m 



SERIES OF LECTURES 



ON THE 



SCIENCE OF GOVERNMENT, 



INTENDED TO PREPARE THE STUDENT 



STUDY OF THE CONSTITUTION OF THE 
UNITED STATES. 



BY N. BEVERLEY TUCKER, 
1 1 

PROFESSOR OF LAW IN THE UNIVERSITY OF WILLIAM AND MARY, AT 
WILLIAMSEURG, VIRGINIA. 




C A REY AND HART. 
1845. 






Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by 
N. Beverley Tucker, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for 
the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



E. G. Dorsey, I$rHter, 
Library Street. 



These lectures are published at the earnest and 
oft-repeated request of those to whom they were 
addressed. Their purpose was to subdue the mind 
of the student to a sense of the difficulty of the 
task before him. Hence, taken as a whole, they 
do not profess to arrive at any positive conclusion. 
The writer's aim was to lead his pupils, by cautious 
steps, to the boundary between what is known, and 
that which is unknown, perhaps unknowable; that, 
standing there, upon the brink of that dark abyss, 
they might learn to distinguish between theory and 
fact — between reason and conjecture — between 
opinion, properly so called, and the crude uncon- 
sidered notions which men so often dignify by that 
name. 

In this view, the introductory discourse, and one 
or two others which formed no part of the original 
series, are now made a part of it. They all have 
the same general tendency, to impress the student 
with a sense of the vastness and importance of the 
subject, and to teach him patience under a sense of 
ignorance of the great result such as his teacher was 
not ashamed to avow. 



The following discourse on the * 4 importance of the 
study of political science, as a branch of academic 
education in the United States," was read before the 
Literary Societies of Randolph-Macon College, Virginia, 
in June 1840. It was not intended to be a part of any 
series of discourses; but the subject makes it quite 
proper to place it here as an introduction to these 
Lectures. 



LECTURE I. 

I beg you to believe, gentlemen, that I do not use 
the language of empty compliment, when I avow the 
pleasure with which I appear before you. In saying 
this I do not merely intend to express my grateful 
sense of the honour you have done me. You need not 
be told that I know how to prize a compliment which 
assigns me a place among the wise, the learned, the 
eloquent and distinguished men, who have heretofore 
performed the task to which I am now called. But I 
have a source of pleasure in presenting myself before 
you, which is all my own: — a higher, holier, and a 
purer, because a sadder source. 

It is impossible to look on the changes which every 
day makes in all we see; on the march of intellect, the 
discoveries of science, the inventions of art, the de- 
velopment of resources not suspected, and the employ- 
ment of agents not before known to exist, without a 
wish to look forward to the future, and to anticipate 
the results of some yet hidden wonder, with which use 
1* 



6 

shall make our children familiar. We find ourselves 
speculating on the thoughts with which the men of the 
last century would look upon the altered state of things 
in every part of the world, where science and civiliza- 
tion shed their light, and then we think that we too 
shall presently go down to the tomb, and sleep in un- 
conscious ignorance of other changes and new discove- 
ries, in which so much that now interests us shall be 
swept away and forgotten. The name of Franklin 
was rendered famous by his discoveries in electricity; 
but the instruments of his science were the toys of our 
childhood. The cloud-cleaving bolt of the thunderer 
became a plaything, and now has almost lost its in- 
terest, in the discovery of the marvellous powers of a 
kindred agent, in which we almost fancy that we de- 
tect the mystery of life itself. How have the resources 
of the world, even in our own time, been multiplied 
by steam! But what is steam compared with the un- 
wearied, spontaneous, and self-renewing power, which 
now the magnet promises to exert in the service of 
man? And who shall assign bounds to the researches 
of the human mind; and who shall estimate the re- 
sources now locked up in the great store-house of na- 
ture? We know that the race may be indefinitely 
multiplied,* and we know the power of mind acting 
on mind, and developing all the faculties, by that re- 
ciprocation of thought which makes the, knowledge and 
power of all, the knowledge and power of each. ^See 
what has been achieved! The lightning of heaven has 
been brought down to earth, and made to do the work 
of a harmless drudge; and the cold bosom of the 
stream has been kindled into flame, and made the 
source of light and heat. Is there no alchemy by 
which stones shall be made bread, and the means of 
subsistence multiplied in proportion to the progressive 
increase of the human race? None can say that this 
may not be so. None can say that there is a mystery 
in physical science which man shall not successfully 
explore, nor an agent in nature so unmanageable, nor 
a substance so inert that it shall not become the docile 
and energetic servant of his will. 



What destiny awaits him who can tell? He was 
made a little lower than the angels. Is he, even here 
on earth, to renounce this subordination, and take an 
equal place by the side of these winged ministers of 
their maker's pleasure? 

"Who can think of these things, and not sadden at 
the thought that all this may be so, but not for him? 
He may catch the enthusiasm of science, and eagerly 
watch the progress of those investigations which pro- 
mise such glorious discoveries; but in the moment 
when anticipations are most cheering, and hope is 
brightest, there is a voice that whispers, 

"Gaze on, while yet thy gladdened eye may see : 
A morrow comes, when they are not for thee ; 
But creeping things shall revel in their spoil, 
And fit thy clay to fertilize the soil." 

So true it is, " As a flower of the field man flourisheth, 
and the wind passeth over it and it is gone; and the 
place thereof shall know it no more." 

What then? Shall we murmur that such is to be 
our fate, when in other moods we exult in our high 
destiny, and boast ourselves of the advantages which 
so eminently distinguish this generation from all that 
have gone before it? And is there not besides a graver, 
and perhaps a sager frame of mind, in which we doubt 
whether this sort of distinction is indeed a thing to 
rejoice in? In the midst of this age of wonders, and 
in the feverish excitement of this hurried march of 
mind, does not a sigh at times escape us, when we 
think of the untaught wisdom, the simple virtues, and 
the quiet enjoyments of those who already sleep in the 
tomb that is opening to receive us? 

Man shall multiply till the earth swarms with the 
race. Will the individual man be happier then than 
now? He shall find new sources of enjoyment, till all 
of splendour and luxury and delight that art can now 
supply shall seem mean, insipid and tame. Will his 
pleasures be sweeter, his sleep calmer, his sum of en- 
joyment greater, and his measures of suffering less 
than now? He shall mount up on the wings of science, 



8 

and the stars shall teach him their mysteries: he shall 
plunge into the depths of ocean, and draw from thence 
the secrets of the abyss; and wonder shall cease, and 
mystery shall be no more. Will he be deeper read in 
that wisdom which gives peace to the soul, and guides 
it safely amid the temptations which beset prosperity, 
and in a moment plunge it in stains "eternity shall 
not efface?" And he who sleeps in that peace which 
God denies not to the humblest creature, who, knowing 
nothing else, knows himself as he is, and his maker as 
his redeemer, and meekly submits to his dispensations, 
and confidingly rejoices in his promises: — should such 
a one be awakened from the tomb, to witness the glo- 
ries of that intellectual millennium, which the votaries 
of science anticipate, would he find cause to regret 
that his Creator had been pleased to appoint his time 
on earth in a day of comparative darkness and igno- 
rance? Would he not find the truth of that which 
has been true since the days of Solomon ? There was 
then nothing new under the sun; nor is there now; 
nor will there ever be: for all that was, and is, and 
shall be, — all is vanity: all is vanity arid vexation of 
spirit. 

Gentlemen — twenty-five years ago, I stood among 
the inhabitants of this place, a busy actor in the busy 
scenes of that day. I was then in the flush of vigorous 
and aspiring manhood. The -frost of age has now 
settled on my head, and ambition is tamed, and passion 
is quelled; and the long vista of hope, which then ex- 
tended before me, has been traversed; and the tomb, 
which terminates it, (then unseen in the distance,) now 
near at hand, displays its open portals fearfully dis- 
tinct. My eye, turn where it might, then rested on 
familiar faces: — and friends, never to be forgotten, 
cheered me in my struggles, consoled me in defeat and 
triumphed with me in success. "There is a friend that 
sticketh closer than a brother," and such a one I had.* 



* The friend here alluded to was John H. Speed, Esq., of 
Boydton; a gentleman of the bar, who died at a very early age, 
but not without having first established a reputation for talent, 



9 

Where is he now? Where are they all; the reckless 
and the joyous, the kind, the good, the generous, the 
brave — where are they? Knock at the gates of death, 
and there demand them, and the answer shall be given, 
when the archangel's trump shall echo through the 
hollow recesses, and burst the marble jaws of the tomb. 
Ml indeed are not gone. Some few, like myself, 

'•'Some few, all weak and withered of their force. 
Rest on the verge of dark eternity, 
Like stranded wrecks." 

Will you pardon, gentlemen, this allusion to the 
past? Or will you deny all sympathy to one, who, in 
a scene like this, and at a moment when the throb of 
hope beats strongest in your hearts, and when all is 
eager anticipation of the spirit-stirring strifes and 
triumphs of opening life, would turn your thoughts to 
the forgotten dead? It is perhaps unreasonable: but 
in such a scene it is natural for me, when 

" I see around me the wide field revive, 
"With fruits, and fertile promise, and the spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive^ 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
To turn from all she brings to those she cannot bring." 

Yet think me not, I pray you, insensible or indif- 
ferent to the value of other changes which time has 
wrought in this place. I should indeed deserve to be 
stigmatised as the "querulus et difficilis laudator tern- 
poris acti," could I forbear to congratulate you on 
those changes, and especially on the moral and intel- 
lectual improvement, which are nowhere, perhaps, so 
striking and encouraging as at this spot. It is the con- 
templation of this improvement which has prompted 
the thoughts I have uttered, and suggested the theme 
to which I propose to invite your attention. 

spirit, integrity and energy, which insured him the respect of all 
who knew him. All these qualities the grave covers ; but in 
addition to these he had secured to himself that best of bless- 
ings, of which the full fruition is reserved for the world beyond 
the tomb. 



10 

It is impossible to witness the advance of science 
and the progress of society in all the arts of life, with- 
out a saddening thought of that primeval curse, which, 
like the sword of the cherub, still flames before the 
gate of that only paradise of the human heart, a state 
of sinless purity. There may be, and I believe there 
is, no assignable limit to the intellectual attainments 
and physical triumphs of man. God has given him 
dominion over the earth, and all that it contains, and 
to conquer and possess it, like the Israelites of old, is 
his appointed task and his manifest destiny. God has 
given him ''dominion over the fish of the sea, and 
over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing 
that moveth on the earth," and all these things are 
subject to him. The might of the elephant, and the 
speed of the horse, and the talons of the falcon, and 
the wings of the dove, are his instruments, and the 
serpent's fang is disarmed of its venom, and the fierce- 
ness of the tiger crouches to his mastery. In all the 
earth one thing, and one alone, rebels against him, and 
defies him. It is his own heart. The stain of far- 
descended ancestral sin is upon it, and it is not, and it 
cannot be subject to that will which should be his. 
"Deceitful above all things, who can know it?" Alas! 
how vain the hope that the discoveries of science, and 
all the triumphs of art, will do more than gild his 
wretchedness, and make his misery conspicuous in 
hopeless splendour, while he heeds not the voice of 
him, who has threatened to "curse his blessings," if 
he does not receive them as his maker's gift, and learn 
to subdue his passions and his appetites to his maker's 
will ! 

What study then so important as the study of him- 
self? What knowledge so precious as the knowledge 
of that mystery of iniquity in his own heart, which 
ever lurks like a serpent amid the flowers with which 
he bedecks his path: which can turn honey to gall, and 
light to darkness, and blessings to curses? It is upon 
this knowledge that the value of all other knowledge 
depends. All other light without this is darkness, — 



11 

"darkness visible," but serving "to discover sights of 
wo." 

" The proper study of mankind is man." 

To all men, in all conditions, self-knowledge and self- 
control are indispensable to happiness. And if this 
be true of all, how emphatically is it true of those who 
know no human authority but that which they them- 
selves create! In the establishment of this authority 5 
in fixing its extent; in regulating the manner of its 
exercise; in selecting those to whom it is to be dele- 
gated, how important a duty do they perform! And 
he — who stretches forth his hand to receive the sceptre 
of command, to minister between God and man in the 
important task of giving law to will and appetite — how 
high the function to which he is called! What quali- 
ties does it demand — what wisdom; what prudence; 
what virtue, in him who aspires to it! 

Does this thought seem new and strange ? It may 
well do so, accustomed as you are to see the suffrage 
of the citizen conferred as a matter of compliment or 
favour, under no guidance but that of whim or par- 
tiality; and the authority of government assumed for 
the gratification of a childish vanity, or the accomplish- 
ment of some selfish and unworthy purpose. Bear 
with me then, I pray you, while I endeavour to vindi- 
cate the truth of what I have just said, and to "show 
the line and the predicament wherein you range," in 
all that pertains to government, under the king of 
kings, the law-giver of law-givers, the ruler of the 
universe. 

It gives me pleasure to believe that I am addressing 
an audience, who will not dislike to be reminded that 
the God whose power is over all things; who commands 
the sun and moon in their seasons; and guides the 
planets through the pathless heavens; and sends the 
wayward yet obedient comet on his errands into the 
deep abyss of space unfathomable; yet condescends to 
interest himself in all that concerns a being so insig- 
nificant as man: that he whom angels and archangels 



12 

obey, yet deigns to engage the service of the sons of 
Adam. What service? What can he need, that he 
should ask any thing at our hands? "If he were 
hungry, surely he would not tell us, for the world is 
his, and the fulness thereof." It is not sacrifices and 
burnt-offerings he demands at our hands. "He will 
take no bullock out of our house, nor he goat out of 
our flocks," for "he knows all the fowls of the moun- 
tain ; and the beasts of the forest, and the cattle on a 
thousand hills are his." For what service were we 
designed — we with our limited faculties, and feeble 
powers, and fleeting breath ? For what: but that we 
should "offer unto God thanksgiving, and pay our vows 
to the most high ; and call upon him in the day of 
trouble ?" It is the heart of man that he requires, and 
the subordination of the heart is all the service he de- 
mands. 

Gentlemen; if it may be permitted to one not worthy 
to take that holy name upon his lips, to scan the pur- 
poses of the most high, may we not entertain the 
thought, that the very weakness, which, when we have 
done all we can, leaves us yet unprofitable servants, is 
implanted in the nature of man, as the means of quali- 
fying him for the only service God requires of him ? 
It is through his wants and infirmities that he is made 
subject to the discipline of life; and what is the end 
and effect of all that discipline, but to purge the heart 
of the selfishness of self-love, and to subdue the wil- 
fulness of self-will? Why else is the helplessness of 
infancy inflicted, and the child of immortality con- 
demned, through that long pupilage, to an authority 
which controls all his actions, and moulds his mind, 
and sways his affections, and reaches even to the 
thoughts and desires of his heart? Why else do the 
infirmities of nature compel a reciprocal dependence 
of men upon each other, for innumerable offices, with- 
out which the race must perish? Why is society thus 
made necessary to man, but that he may learn to sub- 
mit his will to the laws of society ? Why is govern- 
ment made necessary to the authority and existence of 
social order, but to familiarize him with the idea that 



13 

crime shall not go unpunished? From the cradle to 
the grave, obedience to something besides his own will 
is the lesson inculcated and enforced; and by this 
lesson the pride of man is humbled, and his selfishness 
is rebuked, and his affections are expanded, and his 
heart is purified, and made worthy to be a temple 
where God may dwell. 

"When we reflect on these things, we are made sen- 
sible that all the authority to which man is made sub- 
ject on earth is God's instrument for the accomplish- 
ment of his great work in the regeneration of his fallen 
nature. We are thus made to see how true it is, and 
in what sense it is true, "that the powers that be are 
ordained of God; that there is no power but of him; 
that whosoever resisteth the salutary restraints of 
social order and discipline resisteth God; and that by 
him kings reign, and princes decree justice." 

I beseech you, gentlemen, wrong me not so far, as 
to suppose that I mean to revive the exploded and im- 
pious maxims of king-craft, which consecrate the au- 
thority and person of princes as by the sanction of 
divine appointment. Government is decreed of God; 
and the decree is enforced by a sanction so cogent, 
that the race of man must perish if it be not obeyed. 
Government is decreed of God: its authority is from 
him; and it is his minister and co-worker in his great 
purpose of subduing the heart of man to the obedience 
of the gospel. But ivho they are that shall exercise 
the powers of government, and what shall be the mode 
and measure of their authority, are matters which he 
leaves to man to decide for himself. That he be care- 
ful to decide wisely and discreetly, is a duty which he 
owes not more to himself than to others, and most of 
all, to his maker. It is God's will that restraints shall 
be placed on passion and appetite. They who struggle 
against these restraints resist his will. They, who, 
being blessed by his providence with the high privi- 
lege of choosing their form of government, and enact- 
ing their own laws, forbear to impose them, slight his 
authority, and thwart his gracious purpose. They, 
who, being entrusted with the choice of their own 
2 



14 

rulers, elevate to that high function men disposed to 
neglect or abuse their authority; to connive at crime, 
and make a league with iniquity; these insult their 
maker, and bring contempt on his ordinances and his 
providence. But vainly do they strive against his will. 
It is his decree that self-control is the inseparable con- 
dition of political freedom; and that they who, being 
free, refuse to put moral chains on their own appetites, 
shall establish over themselves a master, who shall load 
them with fetters of iron. The history of all the free 
governments which have flourished and" decayed, is the 
history of the fulfilment of this decree. 

I do not affirm the divine right of kings or numbers. 
No particular form of government is of divine appoint- 
ment; but it is the decree of Heaven, not proclaimed 
in thunder, nor. engraved on stone, but written on the 
heart, and stamped into the nature of man, that go- 
vernment of some sort there shall be. It is the will of 
Heaven, that passion shall be submitted to the dominion 
of reason; and that the evil propensities of the creature 
be subjected to those restraints which are necessary to 
subdue him to the authority of his Creator. What 
these shall be depends at first on himself. The yoke 
that reason imposes is easy. To him who voluntarily 
assumes this, no more is necessary; while he whose 
idea of freedom demands an exemption from all re- 
straint, and who therefore gives himself up to the 
dominion of passion, presently finds himself chained 
down with fetters imposed by the hands of others. 
Such must be the consequence of every attempt to 
carry freedom beyond that limit which a respect for 
the rights of others and -the law of God prescribes. ' 

It has been truly said, by an enlightened foreigner,* 
whom I am proud to quote, that man is, by nature, a 
political animal, and that his natural state is a state of 
political society. "The state," says he — that is go- 
vernment of some sort, "is aboriginal with man: it is 
no voluntary association; no contrivance of art, or in- 
vention of suffering; no company of shareholders; no 

* Professor Lieber, of the University of South Carolina. 



15 

machine; no work of contract by individuals who pre- 
viously lived out of it; no necessary evil; no ill of 
humanity, which will be cured in time and by civiliza- 
tion; no accidental thing; no institution above, and 
separate from society; no instrument of one or a few: 
the state is a form and faculty of mankind to lead the 
species toward perfection. It is the glory of man." 

Is it then a light thing, gentlemen, to be placed in a 
condition which charges upon us all the responsibility 
for the form in which this institution shall be framed, 
and the manner of its operation? You must reject as 
idle speculations the thoughts that I have suggested, or 
you must be sensible, that no object can be of more 
importance, than to qualify ourselves to act wisely and 
worthily our parts in an affair of so much moment. 
And will you permit yourselves to believe, that the 
necessary qualification is to be acquired by charging 
the memory with a few specious political maxims, cal- 
culated to cheat us into the belief, that, though in all 
things else, bound to conform our conduct to the dic- 
tates of justice and prudence, yet, in this high concern- 
ment, we are free to give ourselves up to the impulses 
of passion and the suggestions of caprice ? 

The accident of birth has lately placed the crown 
of a mighty kingdom on the head of a young woman: 
and this circumstance communicates an air of romance 
to the transactions of her court, and invests them with 
an unusual interest. The papers on both sides of the 
Atlantic are full of anecdote and details on that sub- 
ject. We see her exercising her august authority to 
regulate the head-dresses of the ladies, and to decide 
the colour and adjust the tie of the cravats of her 
courtiers. Sinking the character of the queen in that 
of the woman, her most serious thoughts have been 
engaged in the selection of a husband; and, in the 
critical posture of her affairs, she permits herself to 
think that the services of the wisest, purest and ablest 
men in the kingdom are to be rejected, because they 
cannot be accepted without some sacrifice of her pri- 
vate predilections. We can see the folly and wicked- 
ness of this, and there needs no Daniel to read the 



16 

handwriting on the wall which denounces her doom 
and that of her empire. What is the source of this 
fond and fatal delusion ? 

According to the forms of the constitution, she is 
taught to speak of her fleets, her armies, her parlia- 
ment, and her people. She has heard of the divine 
right of kings, and has perhaps learned to look upon 
the ceremony of installation as an anointing from on 
high. Can we wonder, then, if, looking abroad on the 
wide and flourishing land over which she reigns, on 
the commerce that whitens every ocean with its sails, 
on the well-appointed armies, whose force is felt be- 
yond the Ganges, and the numerous fleets, which, like 
the bird of Jove, carry her bolts in their pounces to 
the uttermost verge of the sea, can we wonder, if, 
while musing upon all this, a voice should whisper in 
her ear, "For thy pleasure all these things are and 
were created ?" If such infatuation as this possesses 
her mind, we shall be at no loss to understand how she 
may believe that her favour confers an honour in com- 
parison with which the noblest birth and the highest 
personal merit may sink into contempt. We shall no 
longer wonder to see her endeavouring to degrade all 
that is illustrious in her kingdom, and insulting the 
descendants of statesmen, warriors and kings, and the 
men whose services have established her throne, and 
whose fame is the glory of England, by seeking to give 
precedence over all these to a foreigner ,* a boy, a sing- 
ing, rhyming coxcomb, for no better reason than that 
she has chosen him to be the partner of her bed. With 
the example before her of the fate of all those of her 
predecessors, who have ventured to sink the royal cha- 
racter in that of friend, or paramour, or husband, she 



* It is not my intention to deny that the husband of the Eng- 
lish queen may be a very weli-behaved and modest young gen- 
tleman. If he be compared only with others of his age, it 
would be unjust to speak of him otherwise. But when he is 
put forward with a claim of precedence over such a man as 
Lord Wellington, it is allowable to speak of him with contempt. 
Unwarranted pretension always excites, and therefore justifies 
contempt. 



17 

has the folly to suppose that the qualities which please 
a lady's eye, the accomplishments that grace her draw- 
ing-room and enliven her boudoir, entitle the possessor 
to more of the conventional tokens of respect and 
honour than a lineage traced from the victors of Cressy, 
the barons of Runnimede, or the Conqueror himself: 
more even than the laurelled crown of him beneath 
whose prowess sunk that terror of the earth, before 
whom all Europe trembled, and whose, power shook, 
not only the throne of her ancestors, but the very 
foundation of her island kingdom. It is of course 
that she should claim the right to surround herself 
with councillors suited to her taste, and to be guided 
by the artful flattery of an imbecile profligate in pre- 
ference to the graver wisdom of the men to whom 
England looks to save her from impending ruin. 

Gentlemen, we all see the folly of these things, and 
we can all anticipate, with some degree of certainty, 
the mischiefs in which they must end. But what is 
the root of all ? What is it, but the fatal mistake of 
one, who, being intrusted by providence with the high 
prerogative of government, supposes that, in that sta- 
tion, so exalted, yet so responsible, it is not the will of 
her maker, but her own, that is to be consulted ? And 
whence is this mistake but in her ignorance of the 
deep mysteries of political science, in which lies hid so 
much that the temporal welfare of man requires him to 
know ? On this knowledge, depends not only the 
security of government itself, but the preservation and 
order of society, the intellectual and moral improve- 
ment of the race, and its advance to that high, refined, 
enlightened civilization, which is the end of man's 
being and his destiny. 

Gentlemen — are the duties of that unfortunate young 
woman more difficult than our own ? Are the tasks of 
royalty more intricate and perplexed, more full of 
paradox and mystery than that of se/f-government ? Is 
it harder to understand the structure and principles of 
a constitution, which conforms, in so many particulars, 
to that model with which statesmen are most familiar, 
than the complicated machinery of institutions like our 
2* 



18 

own ? If this be so, we may then feel justified in 
censuring the follies and caprices of crowned heads, 
and yet, resting in contented ignorance, take no part 
of the censure to ourselves. If this be so, we may 
condemn the rash and impious presumption, which, 
without due preparation, ventures on duties of such 
magnitude and importance, and, at the same time per- 
haps, find some excuse for our own neglect of those 
qualifications, which fit the free citizen for the task of 
self-government. But may it not deserve a serious 
thought whether some part of the judgment which we 
pronounce upon the sceptred rules of the earth may 
not recoil on our own heads? "To censure others 
while we act the same," is a common error, and unless 
we feel assured that the duties of self-government are 
so simple, so easy and so consistent with seW-indul- 
gence, as to require no preparation of the mind or 
heart, we" may find it hard to excuse ourselves for ne- 
glecting our own political education, and that of our 
children. It is not pleasant, when we have denounced 
the crimes and derided the follies of others, to be found 
in the same faults and to hear the whisper of conscience: 
"Mutato nomine, de tefabula narraturP 

When we hear of a sceptred ruler, and a subject 
people, we have before us ideas with which the world 
has been familiar from the very infancy of government. 
We may speculate on the source of his authority, and 
the motives of their obedience. But let the authority 
be admitted, and the habit of obedience established, 
and the rest is plain. There is no paradox in such a 
case. To study the interests of his people, to exercise 
his authority for the promotion of their welfare, which 
must be his, and steadily to apply that moral discipline 
and cultivation, which may make obedience liberal and 
duty pleasant, is the ruler's task. With the nature of 
this task all men are made familiar by the habits of 
domestic life. The father, who feels, as a father should, 
for the happiness and virtue of his children, is in the 
constant exercise of analogous duties, and he has been 
prepared for them by his own experience of their salu- 
tary influence on his infancy and youth. 



19 

But when we endeavour to form distinct ideas of 
that relation, in which every man is at once ruler and 
subject; of the sovereign citizen, who recognises no 
laws but those of his own enactment, and no authority 
not constituted by himself,* who acknowledges subor- 
dination to the laws, yet claims to stand on a footing 
of equality with those who enact, and those who en- 
force them; who must be and remain a slave to the 
wayward sway of appetite and passion, unless by his 
own act, he imposes chains on these masters of human 
action, and subdues himself to the dominion of a rea- 
son not his own: when we endeavour, in contriving the 
scheme of self-government, to determine the relation 
of cause and effect; to determine the nature and de- 
gree of that action and re-action, in which government 
is seen to make man what he is, while man in turn, 
because of what he is, stamps on the government the 
impress of his own character: we find ourselves en- 
tangled in a web of paradox so intricate, that philoso- 
phy herself is at a loss to fix the point where her 
speculations on consequences and results should com- 
mence. Which is cause and which is consequence? 
Are all people capable of self-government? If igno- 
rant, can they know what is good? If vicious, will 
they choose it? Who shall enlighten their ignorance, 
when they select their own teachers, and reject all who 
inculcate unpalatable truths? Who shall bring their 
passions under the control of reason, and condemn 
their vices to the lash of the law, when they are in 
condition to denounce as unreasonable every maxim 
which does not give license to passion, and when their 
own hands must place the scourge in that of the exe- 
cutioner? 

Do I state this too strongly: and are you prepared 
to say, that, if these things be so, then the problem of 
free government is impracticable, and the very idea of 
self-government an absurdity? Gentlemen — this con- 
clusion would be just, were there no other terms in the 
proposition besides those I have adverted to. The 
scheme of perpetual motion is not more absurd, than 
the idea of causes producing and reproducing indefi- 



20 

nitely their own causes. There must be an agency in- 
dependent of these, a force from without to set in mo- 
tion this endless series of cause and consequence, just 
as the counterpollent forces of the planetary system 
do but regulate the impulse imparted by the hand of 
the Creator. 

Gentlemen: There is such an agency, and there is a 
power that wields it. That power is God, and that 
agency is the inborn sense of right and wrong, the 
native love of good and aversion to all that is evil, 
which is among the strongest instincts of man, im- 
planted in his heart by God himself. To deny these, 
is to deny the capacity of man for self-government, or 
to affirm that effects may exist without a cause, and 
action without motive and against motive. 

In this instinct of human nature is the secret of 
man's capacity for freedom; and here is the starting 
point both for the theory and practice of free govern- 
ment. Is it then a light task for the political philoso- 
pher to adapt his institutions to the necessity of pre- 
serving and cultivating this principle of action, lest it 
may perish in the using? Is there no caution neces- 
sary to prevent those who acknowledge no power but 
that delegated by themselves, from forgetting that it 
was established as a restraint upon themselves; and 
thus imagining that it is never to be exercised but in 
strict subordination to the will, and pliant subserviency 
to the caprices it was meant to control? Is there no 
danger that the native sense of right may be obliterated 
from the minds of those who are called to minister in 
great affairs; that the exercise of power, engendering 
the lust of power, may corrupt those who wield it, and 
tempt them to corrupt the tribunal to which alone on 
earth they are responsible ? It was the saying of a 
wise man and an able statesman, that the business of 
education is to train and prepare the boy for the tasks 
and duties of the man. How self-evident is this truth! 
And how important is that training which is to qualify 
the sovereign citizen of a free state for the tasks and 
duties of that responsible character: the training which 
shall teach him to know himself; to correct the in- 



21 

firmities of his own nature; to medicine the distempers 
of his own mind; to stop his ears against the voice of 
passion, yet leave them open to the counsels of wisdom; 
to tie up his hands from mischief, vet leave them so far 
unfettered, that they may do the great work to which he 
is appointed; to command those whom he obeys, and 
obey those whom he commands, and this because they 
command his obedience in virtue of his command to 
them! 

These ideas are just, in their application to free 
government, in every form, and under all circumstances. 
They make it the duty of every people, who would 
preserve their freedom, to keep a watch over them- 
selves, and to guard their hearts with all diligence, 
since out of them are the issues of temporal freedom, 
as well as eternal life. In the execution of this task, 
they need the benefit of all the precautions that wis- 
dom can contrive, in those seasons of dispassionate 
reflection, which nations, like individuals, do not al- 
ways enjoy. The institutions established at such times, 
may be likened to the wise precautions of Ulysses 
against the allurements of the syren. Aware of his 
infirmity, and anticipating temptation, he gave the 
helm to those who were secured against it; and the 
last use he made of his authority, before he was bound 
to the mast, was to command his companions not to 
release him till the danger was past, whatever signs of 
impatience might escape him. Happy for him that 
their senses were not only closed to the voice of the 
treacherous charmer, but also to his persuasive elo- 
quence. They could not fail to understand his signs, 
but they obeyed him in disregarding them. They 
saved him in spite of himself: but it was his wisdom 
acting through them that saved them all; and never 
did they show their respect for him more, than in sub- 
jecting his insane will to the authority of his own sober 
reason. 

Of a like nature, gentlemen, are the restraints im- 
posed by constitutional limitations on the authority of 
the people over those appointed by themselves to act 
for the time in their name. Whatever they may re- 



22 

quire of their official servants, in contravention of con- 
stitutional obligations, it is their duty to show respect 
to the sovereign will of the people, by disregarding 
such requirements, "honouring them more in the breach 
than by the observance." Such things are apt to pro- 
voke resentment; and he who has the firmness to do 
his duty, loses the favour of the people. But the hour 
of excitement passes by, and when the reign of reason 
is restored, he who had dared to serve them in spite of 
themselves, is rewarded with such honour as mean 
compliance never wins. 

Such is the use of those political charters by which 
powers are delegated and defined, and the inherent 
and inextinguishable sovereignty of the people them- 
selves is put under salutary disabilities and restraints, 
and in which the principles of freedom and the grand 
maxims of government are consecrated. 

To put these things to their proper use, and to pre- 
serve them from contempt and destruction, they must 
be studied; they must be understood in their letter, and 
in their spirit .and principles. Trust me, gentlemen, 
this is no easy lesson, nor one that is to be learned 
without long and various preparation. To master it 
thoroughly, he who would do so must bring to the task 
a mind deeply instructed in the nature of man, and in 
the history of government — a mind capable of detect- 
ing causes in their effects and anticipating effects from 
causes. 

Of this nature is the study of all government, even 
the most simple. Unfortunately it is never -so difficult 
as when the constitution we wish to understand is one 
contrived to preserve itself from innovation and de- 
struction, at the hands of those whose freedom it is 
meant to guard. The machinery of despotism is sim- 
ple, its action is direct, and its methods coarse. In 
proportion as government is free, so is its structure in- 
tricate and delicate, and liable to derangement from 
the unskilful hand of meddling ignorance. The his- 
tory of man affords no example so well illustrating 
this truth, as our own. 

Reason demonstrates, and experience has proved, 



23 

that, in every government, the power to be exercised 
by the ruler will bear a certain proportion to the ex- 
tent, the wealth, and the resources of the community, 
over which he presides. With these it must increase, 
as society advances in the career of improvement and 
prosperity, always most rapid where freedom is most 
perfect and best secured. The power of the commu- 
nity is the power of the government. It reacts upon 
the people with an energy always proportioned to its 
direct action, and enhanced by the increasing means 
of influence, the increasing sources of corruption, and 
the more frequent opportunities of usurpation. The 
administrators of an empty treasury can rarely secure 
the public favour, but by strict integrity and fidelity to 
every duty. When prosperity pours into the coffers of 
the state the confluent streams, which take their rise 
in the overflowing gains of every art and every occu- 
pation, the means of winning the mercenary support 
of those who are ready to sell their country for gold 
are fearfully increased. The honours that tempt am- 
bition to the service of the usurper are not in the gift 
of the ruler of a petty state. But when his country 
takes a place in the foremost rank of the nations of the 
earth, and they who represent her may contend for pre- 
cedence with the ministers of imperial crowns, the 
badge of office is no longer a mere toy- to tempt the 
childish vanity of little men, but they whose hands 
were formed to wield the destiny of empires, find ob- 
jects to engage even their ambition, in subordinate sta- 
tions, and yield themselves the willing and efficient 
instruments of daring and splendid usurpation. 

Aware of these things, the founders of our institu- 
tions saw the necessity of effecting a distribution of 
the authority of government, so wide and various, as 
to afford a reasonable security against such an accu- 
mulation of power and influence in the hands of any 
one functionary as to endanger the independence of 
the rest, and the liberty of the whole community. It 
was with this view, that they ventured on the experi- 
ment of a government without example in all past his- 
tory; dissociating all those powers which reach the 



24 

private relations, and affect the private rights, and in- 
dividual acts and interests of private men, from those 
which, in their exercise, afford the means of engaging 
the co-operation of the interested or aspiring, by lures 
addressed to the avarice of the one or the ambition of 
the other. In labouring to carry this purpose into 
effect, they have established institutions, which have 
commanded for their founders the gratitude of America, 
and the admiration of the world. Yet so anomalous 
is their plan, that, to this day, the ablest expounders 
of the constitution are not agreed upon its fundamental 
principles, and so little does it resemble any other 
government, whether past or present, that all attempts 
to illustrate and explain it by analogies to them, are 
sure to lead to dangerous mistakes. It is not my pur- 
pose at this time, to take either side of any one of the 
numerous discussions which grow out of it. I do but 
advert to the fact, that such discussions have taken 
place, that new ones are continually arising, that every 
day adds to the interest which attends them; every 
day brings nearer the time when they must be decided, 
for good or ill, by the people, who alone can decide 
them; and every day shows more and more the im- 
portance of deciding wisely and discreetly. 

Gentlemen; if the founders of this singular system 
deserve that praise for wisdom which has been uni- 
versally awarded to them; if, as we all believe, the 
constitution established by them is the palladium of 
our safety; if the loss of that would be followed by 
the loss of peace, prosperity, security and freedom, 
while, in preserving it, all these are safe; how earnest 
and devoted should be our efforts to secure this ines- 
timable blessing to our posterity! With what prepa- 
ration and what rites should they, who are to guard the 
temple of freedom, the depository of this precious talis- 
man, be trained and consecrated to this hallowed duty! 

But, gentlemen, among us there is no order of poli- 
tical priesthood, to minister in that temple in behalf of 
all the rest. We have no hereditary lawgivers, no 
Levite race, who are to stand between the people and 
the altar, and to receive and sanctify, and present their 



25 

offerings there. In this, as in that higher worship which 
we owe to God himself, each man must render for him- 
self the only sacrifices that can be acceptable; to the 
one, the humble and contrite heart; to the other, the 
mind understanding^ devoted to freedom guarded by 
law. Freedom, like the Lord of hosts, dwells not in 
temples made with hands. Ye are yourselves the tem- 
ples, both of freedom, and of him who made you free. 
Beware lest you profane them! The spirit of God 
will as soon dwell with the impure of heartj as freedom 
will dwell with sloth, and luxury, and avarice, and that 
impatience of salutary restraint, in which the rights of 
all are sacrificed in the strife of all, each contending 
for license which freedom disallows. In politics as in 
religion, the truth alone can make you free, and there 
is no freedom, as there is no salvation for such as close 
their ears to the things that make for their peace. 

Next after that truth on which the eternal welfare 
of man depends, what study can be so important to the 
youth of this republic, as that of our own institutions? 
What work of man so much deserves to engage your 
attention, as those charters in which your rights and 
your duties are alike defined? What philosophy so 
worthy of your profoundest thoughts as the philosophy 
of government? What science so vast, so compre- 
hensive, so important? It involves the study of man, 
his nature, his rights, his duties, the good and evil that 
are in him, his reason, his passions, his infirmities, his 
vices, his physical, intellectual and moral capacities 
and wants. If the thoughts I have already offered, 
have seemed of any worth, they must have suggested 
to you the importance of much that we do not know, 
or know not as we ought. They should have made 
you sensible that the function of a sovereign citizen 
is an affair not of right alone, but of duty also: and 
that he who presumes to act in that exalted character, 
far from being subject to no law but his own will, no 
reason but his own caprice, is exercising a high duty, 
to which he is called by God himself, whose unworthy 
instrument he is, in his great work — the moral go- 
vernment of MAN. 
3 



26 

Are these suggestions of reason to be silenced, by 
the oft repeated cry that the people can do no wrong, 
and that their voice is the voice of God ? Gentlemen 
— such is the language that all sovereigns hear from 
their flatterers. The maxim that the king can do no 
wrong, is a maxim of the English constitution with 
which we are all familiar, and which, in its most abused 
sense, is never more current in the mouths of courtiers, 
than when the throne is filled by a prince whose crimes 
dishonour it. The infallibility of the pope is an ab- 
surdity which all Europe believed, or pretended to 
believe, for nearly a thousand years, and he is no true 
catholic, whose faith is to be at all. shaken, by the in- 
numerable contradictory interpretations of the scrip- 
tures, each proceeding from the same infallible source, 
and each condemning all the rest. In like manner, 
(for its terms are universal,) our maxim is applied alike 
to the vicious and ignorant, as to virtuous and enlight- 
ened communities; and political revolutions, in which 
the idol of one day is the victim of the next, and that 
which yesterday was wise and just, is, by the same un- 
erring tribunal, to-day denounced as foolish and wick- 
ed, must not be permitted to awaken a doubt of its 
truth. 

What says reason to these things ? What says the 
voice of truth from on high? When Herod, arrayed 
in royal apparel, sat upon his throne, and made an 
oration, the people gave a shout, saying, "It is the 
voice of a god, and not of a man; and immediately the 
angel of the Lord smote him, because he gave not God 
the glory, and he was eaten of worms and gave up the 
ghost." It is not responsibility to human laws, and 
human authority, that makes the test of what is right 
or wrong. The people are irresponsible in this sense, 
and none can sit in judgment upon them, and there can 
be no authority to punish their transgressions. Their 
power is indeed, and most emphatically, from God. 
What then ? Is every exercise of it therefore righteous 
in his sight? "Knowest thou not," said Pilate, "that 
I have power to crucify thee ?" Jesus answered, "Thou 
couldst have no power against me, except it were given 



21 

thee from above." Do these words justify the sentence 
which doomed their sinless author to the death of a 
malefactor? 

Gentlemen — the power of the people is from God; 
and that his blessing attends its discreet and righteous 
exercise, is proved by the prosperity and happiness, 
and the advance of science and art and intellectual 
improvement which ever attend it. But think, I pray 
you, whether this fact does not betoken an ultimate 
purpose, the final accomplishment of which may belong 
to a remote generation, and to which our short time on 
earth should be devoted in subordination to his will? 
If this purpose is the perfection of man in all that 
civilization can achieve, and if political freedom is 
God's chosen means for accomplishing this, how heavy 
is the condemnation of those, who, being called to work 
together with him, to this great end, profane their high 
function, by using it to accomplish the petty purposes 
of a day, suggested by their own evil passions! What 
place should ambition have in the heart of him who is 
born to this illustrious destiny? Can worldly honour 
and distinction, and the breath of man, add any thing 
to the glory of him who acts well his part in such a 
work as this ? Is it the leader's truncheon, is it the 
ruler's sceptre, that distinguishes the name of Wash- 
ington, and secures him the foremost place among those 
whose memory shall never die? Is it not rather, that 
God was in all his thoughts; that in all things he de- 
voted himself to the high purposes of the master of the 
world, and acted as one called to do his maker's will, 
and not his own? He did his maker's will, and here 
we see the results. He effected his maker's purpose, 
and in the fruits of his labours we find an intimation 
what that purpose is. With what humble thankfulness 
and earnest zeal should we devote ourselves to the 
farther advancement of that gracious design, which, 
by the agency of free government, and the instrumen- 
tality of beings so insignificant as ourselves, has made 
this wilderness to blossom as the rose, and will never 
cease, till the whole earth is full of the knowledge of 



28 

God, and of that freedom which they who serve him 
in spirit and in truth alone are destined to enjoy ? 

Gentlemen — if there be any truth in the ideas I have 
laid before you, I owe the knowledge of that truth to 
one of those illustrious men, whose names you have 
consecrated by adopting them as the designation of 
your institution. You have engraven the name of 
Randolph on the shrine here erected to literature, to 
science and to God. What offering so fit for that 
altarj what offering so proper for me to lay upon it, as 
this poor attempt to embody and preserve something of 
the teachings of that deep sagacity and profound wis- 
dom which distinguished him, and which he laboured 
to impart to me.* Love to the brother — gratitude to 
the benefactor — even these sentiments should be sub- 
ordinate to my veneration for the man, from whose 
eloquent lips I have learned more than from all my 
own experience and reflection, and from all the men 
with whom I have ever conversed, and from all the 
books I ever read. How so well can I manifest these 
sentiments, how so fitly express my gratitude for the 
honour done to his memory by you, as by availing my- 
self of this occasion, to bring to your ears a faint echo 
of the words I have heard from him ? Where so pro- 
perly could I offer an exhortation to the study of poli- 
tical philosophy as a branch of academic education, as 
in a temple of science on which is inscribed the name 

* It is hoped that this laudatory mention of one whose fame 
is a part of his country's history, will not be deemed an offence 
against the laws of taste and delicacy, although Mr. Randolph 
was the speaker's half-brother. He felt that an acknowledg- 
ment was due from him for the honour done to his distinguished 
relative, and that he was bound in candour to make known the 
source from whence he had himself derived the leading ideas 
in this address. He trusted too, that their truth would be more 
sensibly felt when announced on such authority. It is perhaps 
to be regretted that the circumstances did not make an opening 
for any expression of the speaker's high admiration and pro- 
found veneration for that most wise and able man, Mr. Macon. 
And yet perhaps the most striking part of the compliment paid 
to Mr. Randolph by the founders of the institution, is the asso- 
ciation of his name with that of one whom Mr. R. himself pro- 
nounced to be the best and wisest man of his age and country. 



29 

of one, whose life was devoted to that study ? I speak 
after him, when I say, that to understand the constitu- 
tion and laws of our country, in their letter and in 
their spirit; to explore the philosophy of our institu- 
tions, and to qualify ourselves to act well our several 
parts, as sovereign citizens of Virginia, is the great 
temporal duty which we owe to God and to man. To 
God: — for in that we accomplish the earthly end of 
our being: to our fathers: — for it is the only fit ex- 
pression of our gratitude for blessings transmitted to 
us: to our children: — because we should not impair 
the inheritance we have ourselves received. Thus, and 
thus only can we fulfil our duties as members of that 
great partnership, which not only unites together the 
present generation, but which connects the living with 
the dead, and with those who are yet to be born; and 
in which man is elevated to a sort of fellowship with 
the Creator himself. 

I deeply feel how unequal I am to the task I have 
endeavoured to perform; and I feel it the more sensi- 
bly, because, in the very act, I am reminded of him, 
who, above all men, was best fitted for it. His was 
the mind to understand; his was the faculty to expound; 
his was the eloquence to excite. His was the mar- 
vellous gift, to 

Put so much of his soul into his words, 

That others followed, wheresoe'er he called : 

And, by the inspiration of his voice, 

Cowards, made bold, performed the tasks of valour. 

And sloth leaped up, and from his sluggish limbs 

Shook off the leaden fetters. 

He lived for Virginia. She was his country. She 
was his world. And though a step-son's portion was 
his lot; though his best endeavours to serve her were 
sometimes repaid with neglect and reproach; yet never 
did his faith waver: never did his zeal falter: never 
did his love cool: never did the feverish impatience of 
his fiery spirit rebel against her. In his darkest hour, 
it was his pride to know, that he had never merited, 
however he incurred her displeasure, and ' to bear 
3* 



30 

meekly all the scoffs with which she sometimes requited 
his endeavours to serve her. To rival the marvellous 
endowments with which Heaven distinguished him is 
not perhaps for any one of us. But to emulate his 
example, in devoting ourselves to our country, accoro^- 
ing to the measure of our capacity, is what we all may 
do. To that effort I would incite the youth of Virginia; 
and, that they may make it profitably to her, and hon- 
ourably to themselves, I would urge them to devote 
themselves, in early life, to those studies which alone 
can qualify them to act worthily their parts as sove- 
reign CITIZENS OF THIS ANCIENT AND ILLUSTRIOUS COM- 
MONWEALTH. 



LECTURE II. 

On Government. 

Gentlemen: 

The subject of government is that which is to occupy 
our attention through the course of lectures on which 
we are about to enter. To recommend it to your at- 
tention, to impress you with a sense of its importance, 
and to lay before you an outline of my plan, is the 
purpose of this discourse. 

To perform the task proposed, we must investigate 
the philosophy of government. We must inquire into 
those particulars in the nature of man, which render 
society necessary to him, and those circumstances which 
render government necessary to the purposes of society. 
We must examine the relations which man bears to 
man in a state of nature, the modifications of these 
relation^ effected by society, and the duties arising 
from them which are to be enforced by government. 

Pursuing this investigation, we may hope to arrive 
at just ideas of the proper ends and objects of govern- 
ment. May we not farther hope to obtain some lights 



31 

which may aid us in deciding what are the best means 
of attaining these ends ? If such hopes be reasonable, 
then there is no subject connected merely with the 
temporal welfare of man that so much demands exami- 
nation — none which promises so rich a reward to the 
patient and candid investigator. But he who would 
secure it, must come to his task with a mind duly pre- 
pared to receive the teachings of reason, and to follow 
her guidance whithersoever she may lead. 

Why else is it that a subject which, during six thou- 
sand years, has occupied the thoughts and researches 
of men able and wise in their generations, has so long 
remained shrouded in thick darkness ? If that be true, 
which all of us believe, and of which most of us enter- 
tain no doubt, then, during the whole of that time, this 
darkness has been never penetrated but by occasional 
gleams, calculated rather to dazzle and bewilder than 
to enlighten. And why is this, but that the investiga- 
tion has been conducted almost exclusively by practical 
statesmen, engaged in the actual business of govern- 
ment, and pledged by their prejudices and by their in- 
terests to ancient errors and inveterate abuses? Would 
we but bethink us that the science of civil polity and 
jurisprudence is a branch of that great system of moral 
government by which the author of all things rules the 
universe, we should feel that it becomes us to approach 
the subject with awe. Whether we propose to our- 
selves to minister in this great system, or content our- 
selves with investigating its principles, we should come 
to our task as to the performance of a holy function. 
The bias of faction and of interest must be shaken oft'; 
the aspirings of ambition must be restrained; the pride 
of opinion must be renounced, and we must hold our- 
selves prepared alike to defy the "vultus instantis 
tyranni" and to disregard the "civium ardor prava 
jubentium." 

Hence, gentlemen, the philosophy of government is 
a study most appropriate to the season of unprejudiced 
and uncorrupted youth, and to academic shades, never 
disturbed by the clamours of faction. The frown of 
power has no terrors here; the temptations of ambition 



32 

have no allurements for us. To us who teach, and to 
you who learn, there is nothing so desirable as the dis-* 
covery of truth; and to the search of this we can here 
address ourselves with a single-minded zeal, of which 
we, in other circumstances, and you, perhaps, in after 
life, might be incapable. 

On the investigation to which I now invite your at- 
tention, we must prepare ourselves to enter with tem- 
pered ardour, with regulated enthusiasm, with patient 
hope; looking for the reward of our labours to Him, 
who never denies the light of truth to them that dili- 
gently seek it. 

Man is emphatically a social animal. Other crea- 
tures are solitary or gregarious, according to the im- 
pulse of instincts, which make them find pleasure in 
the presence of others of their kind, or cultivate a 
surly satisfaction in secluded loneliness. But man is 
social from necessity. The very laws of his nature 
impose society upon him, as one of the conditions of 
his existence. He is social in the same sense in which 
we say of some animals, that they are of the sea — of 
others, that they are of the earth or air. ' Society is the 
very element in which he must live; and the water is 
no more necessary to the fishes of the deep, than 
society is to man. 

He enters into life in circumstances that impose this 
necessity upon him. Other animals bring with them 
into the world a covering to shelter them from the in- 
clemencies of the season; the faculty of locomotion is 
acquired in a few hours; the power of obtaining, and 
the instinct which directs in the choice of food, are im- 
parted long before the care of the mother is withdrawn; 
and, from the moment of their birth, the parent brute 
is in condition to cater for her offspring, and to defend 
or hide them from danger. But with man the case is 
widely different. Whole years, with all their vicissi- 
tudes of heat and cold, and parching drought, and 
drenching rain, must pass away, before he acquires 
strength to escape or to endure without perishing on 
exposure, even of a few hours, to either of these ex- 
tremities. In the state of absolute helplessness in 



33 

wnich he enters into life, his mother is hardly less help- 
less than himself, and both must perish did not the in- 
stitutions of social life connect them with others to 
whom their existence is never so precious, as when in 
this precarious condition. To these institutions the 
father owes the means of identifying his offspring, who 
thus become the objects of that instinct of parental 
love which, in the brute creation, the mother alone is 
seen to display. 

Do I go too far then, when I assert that society is 
essential to the preservation of the human species, and 
that man cannot be supposed to have ever existed out 
of a social relation? Or must I compliment the lord 
of creation by throwing a veil over that state of puling 
helplessness, in which the inhabitants of an ant-hill 
might make him their prey ? 

How erroneously do they judge, who would, for this, 
undervalue the dignity of human nature. When God 
gave man "dominion over the lish of the sea, and over 
the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over the 
earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon 
the earth," he gave him, as the charter of this gift, as 
the means of establishing and extending and perpetuat- 
ing this dominion, the very helplessness which I have 
described. In this, man's weakness is his strength; 
for this it is which makes the strength of all the strength 
of each. This season of dependent weakness, pro- 
longed until the senses have acquired their perfection 
— till the affections have begun to bud — till the dawn 
of thought has broken up the darkness of his mind, — 
makes him for a long time the constant recipient of 
benefits, which the infirmities and cravings of his na- 
ture teach him to prize and to receive with gratitude 
and love. It is by this fostering process that the heart 
is warmed to a sense of inextinguishable obligation, 
and puts forth those filaments which cling to the breast 
that feeds and cherishes him, with a tenacity that no 
time can relax, and no violence can sunder. The 
mother thus becomes a connecting link among those, 
who are alike the objects of her tender care; and the 
enduring ties which bind man to his kind are spun 



34 

from the fine and delicate fibres, which, in the pro- 
longed interchange of good offices, are shot forth from 
heart to heart. 

Originating thus in the weakness of man, the primary 
end and object of society is security. To war against 
the dangers that assail, to guard against the dangers 
that threaten — to destroy, or drive to a distance, every 
thing by which security might be invaded, — is the pur- 
pose for which men must first be supposed to have as- 
sociated themselves together. Here is the inducement 
to accomplish that conquest over the brute creation to 
which man was ordained by his Maker. 

In the prosecution of this, some races of animals 
have been annihilated — some are driven to hide them- 
selves from the face of man in the depths of the forest, 
and in the caverns of the earth, — and others of more 
tame and practicable tempers have been subdued to 
the uses of the lord of creation. 

Thus was security obtained; but though these ene- 
mies were subdued or destroyed, their place was taken 
by another, more formidable than all the rest. Man 
became the enemy of man. The social union, which 
had sprung from a sense of common danger, had ceased 
with its cause; but a new danger thus arose, which 
did but bind together those who yet remained united, 
more strongly than before. 

It would thus appear, that, under whatever circum- 
stances society has been formed, the prevailing induce- 
ment to it must have been a desire of security. We 
may be disposed to reject this idea as disparaging to 
the character of the bold and intrepid being that man, 
in the infancy and in the ruder states of society, has 
generally shown himself. But there are dangers at 
which the heart of the hero quails like that of the 
veriest coward. The danger that threatens the do- 
mestic fire-side, the prattling urchins, the nursing 
mother, and her tender babe, is one to which the brave 
are, perhaps, more sensitive than other men. To leave 
them alone and exposed, without protectors, without 
friends, while the hunter, in pursuit of the necessary 
means of subsistence, plunges into the wilderness, and 



35 

tor weeks and months together pursues his prey, would 
never be endured. The very wildness of his life, 
apparently most foreign to the social state, would make 
society the more necessary to his peace of mind. 

It happens accordingly, that not only do we never 
find man dissociated from his fellows, but in that rude 
state in which he is incapable of being moulded into 
extended and civilized society, he is bound to the mem- 
bers of his petty tribe with a fervour of enthusiasm to 
which those of larger communities are strangers. They 
are necessary to him; for, but for them, the wolf or the 
tiger might invade his hut, or his race might be swept 
from the face of the earth by the incursion of a hostile 
tribe. 

At this day, and viewing ourselves as members of a 
society, whose widely extended territory makes it alto- 
gether improbable that the horrors of war will ever be 
brought home to our fire-sides, we may be disposed to 
undervalue the security which we enjoy. It is danger 
which makes men sensible of its importance, and, in 
the total absence of that, we almost scorn to think of 
it as one of the elements of our happiness. But, think 
of it as we may, it is that which gives their value to 
all the rest: for, without it, there can be nothing we 
can call our own. What prompts us to "add field to 
field and house to house," and to lay broad and deep 
the foundation of our prosperity? It is security. We 
know that reverses may come, and we require more 
than we need, lest some trifling loss should leave us 
less than we need. What makes man everywhere 
eager to strengthen that sacred tie on which the happi- 
ness of life depends, and to render it indissoluble ? It 
is the desire of security. Why else are men willing 
thus to bind themselves irrevocably to a choice of which 
they may repent? 

A little reflection will lead us to see that this same 
desire of security must have been mainly influential to 
induce men to submit themselves to the restraints of 
government. If it be true, and I trust I have shown 
that it must be so, that society of some sort is one of 
the verv conditions of our existence, then society must 



36 

always have been found among men under all circura 
stances. But the ends which render society necessary, 
might be accomplished by small associations. There 
is, therefore, no warrant for supposing large ones, ante- 
cedent to the institution of government. Among sava- 
ges, we find none but petty tribes, composed of a few 
individuals, who may be supposed to have become 
united by the ties of blood and marriage, or by the 
offices of friendship. Indeed, there is something ex- 
clusive in such associations; and while we see the in-' 
dividual man irresistibly impelled to connect himself 
with his fellow man, we find that so soon as the society 
which necessity prescribes has been formed, a spirit of ,| 
repulsion manifests itself toward all similar associa- ; 
tions. 

Looking, then, to the nature of man, and the cir- 
cumstances in which he was placed in the world, we 
shall see mankind scattered over the face of the earth, 
not as insulated individuals, but in clustering groups, 
united by the necessities of nature, by the ties of 
kindred, and the reciprocal experience of benefits. 
We shall see each of these groups assuming a sort of 
collective personality, and soon learning to look with 
jealousy or envy on others. Of such connections or 
associations, not yet bound together by any tie that 
constitutes a government, permit me to speak by the 
name of bands or societies. 

It must unavoidably and frequently happen, that be- 
tween individual members of such bands, and indi- 
viduals of some other band, collisions would arise. 
Whenever these should be of such a nature as to pro- 
voke mortal hostility, it would be generally found that 
the members of each would make common cause with 
their associate, whether to vindicate his quarrel, to 
redress his wrongs, or to defend his life. Hence, fierce 
and bloody contests 'would arise. Each of these would 
leave behind it the germ of other strifes, and, unless 
some remedy were found, extermination to one or both 
would often be the consequence. 

It could hardly fail to happen, that in some such 
case a parley might lead to an agreement of the parties 



37 

to submit the controversy to the arbitrament of their 
respective friends, with an understanding that the as- 
sociates of him who should be found to have done the 
wrong should punish, or force him to repair it. The 
satisfaction to all parties, which would generally result 
from the adoption of such a plan, would soon lead them 
to resort to it habitually, not only for the adjustment 
of controversies with the members of another band, 
but for the settlement of domestic difficulties. 

Here, then, would be the infancy of government, 
developed from those embryo associations which the 
infirmity of man's nature makes necessary to his ex- 
istence. You will see that governments, originating 
from such causes, must, from the nature of the thing, 
be uniformly characterized by certain features, which 
we find, in point of fact, to be common to all govern- 
ments, and the uniform existence of which cannot be 
accounted for so well on any other theory. The very 
ends and objects of such governments would require 
three things. 

1. That each individual should be responsible to his 
own society, alone, for any wrongs done to the mem- 
bers of that, or any other society. 

2. That each society should be responsible collec- 
tively to other societies for wrongs done by its mem- 
bers to other societies, or their members. 

3. Hence, thirdly, would arise the duty of obedience 
from each individual to that society, thus made answer- 
able for him, and securing him from all responsibility 
but to itself. 

This is the protection to which allegiance is the re- 
ciprocal and correlative duty; and in this reciprocity, 
we find the origin of the inseparable connexion be- 
tween allegiance and protection. The two are mu- 
tually cause and consequence of each other. Let the 
responsibility of the community for the individual be 
once established, and his duty of obedience to the com- 
munity will follow as a necessary consequence. 

On the other hand, let it be admitted that he is 
bound to obey, and they who command must, of course, 
be responsible for the results of his obedience. 
4 



38 

From the combined action of both principles, it will 
follow, that the individual being responsible to the com- 
munity, and the community responsible for the indi- 
vidual, he cannot be responsible to any other authority. 

You will see plainly in this sketch the outline of the 
few features which are common to all governments. 
You will see in it the source of that peculiar authority 
called sovereignty, the reason of its exercise, and the 
tests of its existence. 

On this subject of sovereignty so much has been 
said, and so little is understood, that I am particularly 
pleased with the theory I have suggested ; because it 
will render us familiar with a notion of government 
well calculated to preserve us from a confusion of ideas 
concerning sovereignty, so common and so perplexing. 

I am aware that another theory has found favour 
with most writers. I speak of the patriarchal, as it is 
called. If by this it be meant that in the earliest ages 
there was always recognised a sort of authority in the 
parent over his children, and a mysterious tie connect- 
ing these together, it affirms no more than is true of all 
men in all times and countries. To say that this ex- 
isted before the existence of any other society, is but 
to affirm what the very idea of our common origin 
necessarily implies. In this sense the proposition em- 
braces, in the beginning, the whole human race then in 
existence, and does but import that they continued 
united together until they fell out among themselves. 
That they did so fall out is certain — and in all after 
times we find mankind united together in associations 
in which, doubtless, the tie of blood was an element, 
but plainly only one of many elements of union, em- 
bracing individuals of various families and races. 

If we look for the testimony of history, we find, in- 
deed, in scripture, instances of what we call familiarly 
patriarchal associations. But we have clear evidences 
of society, of some sort, antecedent to these. More- 
over, the oldest and most authentic of them all is, cer- 
tainly, not a case of a father exercising authority over 
his children or his kindred. It is the case of Abraham. 
We find him, on one occasion, at the head of three 



39 

hundred and eighteen trained troops. Were these his 
own ? We are expressly told so. Were they his de- 
scendants, the progeny of numerous wives? He was 
at that time childless; nor did he, until afterwards, 
become the father even of the misbegotten Ishmael. 
Were they his kindred? By no means; for, in the 
beginning of his career, God had said to him, "Get 
thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and 
from thy father's house, unto a land that I will show 
thee." He did so, taking only his wife, "and Lot his 
brother's son." We then have the history of his sepa- 
ration from Lot; and between that event and the birth 
of Ishmael, comes the history of his successful expe- 
dition, at the head of his own people, to rescue Lot 
from the king of Elam. 

Now, what do we see in this corresponding with the 
idea of a patriarchal government, in the strict sense of 
the government of a father over his children? Nothing 
at all — but much to show that society and something 
like government already existed on some other basis, 
and nothing that does not well coincide with the theory 
that I have suggested. 

I have said that I am desirous to recommend this 
theory to you, because it perfectly coincides with the 
results which we find throughout the world. If this 
theory be true, it explains how it is that all govern- 
ments are established on the three great principles I 
have laid down. But whether these principles thus 
originated or no, of thus much we may be sure, that, 
however governments differ from each other, they all 
have these things in common. 1. That each individual 
is responsible to his own community for his acts. 2. 
That the community is responsible to all the world for 
the acts of its members; and 3. As a consequence of 
these, that the individual member is responsible to 
none but his own community. 

I have already remarked, that the device intended 
to guard against collisions with other tribes, and to 
ensure the reparation of wrongs done by the members 
of one to the members of another, would soon be ap- 
plied to the no less important object of preserving 



40 

domestic peace, and enforcing justice between the 
members of the same tribe. Such application com- 
pletes the idea of government, and supplies all that is 
wanting to perfect the sketch of those few particulars, 
in which all governments are found to resemble each 
other. 

If we may know the tree by its fruits, we may judge 
from the universality of these principles of government, 
and of these alone, that the evils they are intended to 
remedy are those which have led to the establishment 
of governments. To this day they are the primary 
objects of all political institutions. To the accomplish- 
ment of these objects the frame of every government 
is shaped; and by the common consent of all enlight- 
ened nations, we do not impute the character of a body 
politic to any society in which these things do not re- 
ceive a strict, faithful and scrupulous attention. Thus 
we see that those associations which make light of the 
responsibility of the collective whole for the acts of 
the members, and are occasionally found countenancing 
the wrongs done by individuals to the members of other 
states, are not recognised as properly belonging to the 
commonwealth of nations. By some states they may 
indeed be employed and countenanced as instruments 
of annoyance to an enemy, and by all they may be 
tolerated and endured for reasons of state. This, to 
the reproach of Europe, has been long true of the Bar- 
bary Powers. But we have lately seen, that when the 
forbearance of France was exhausted, or when her 
views were directed to a different policy, the power of 
Algiers was crushed, and her political existence blotted 
out, without a word of remonstrance from any other 
state. Even the characteristic jealousy of the aggran- 
dizement of France, which England has always che- 
rished, could not make her so insensible to her own 
honour as to prompt a single measure in order to pre- 
vent the annexation of that principality to the French 
dominions. Could a decent pretext for interference 
have been found, oceans of blood would have been 
shed, before France would have been permitted to 
secure to herself so important a port on the Mediter- 



41 

ranean. The consequence attached to Gibraltar, Mi- 
norca and Malta, in most European wars, makes this 
unquestionable. 

It is only then in those associations which hold them- 
selves responsible for the conduct of their members, 
that the law of nations fully recognises a national cha- 
racter, a complete political personality. The correla- 
tive of this, as I have shown, is the duty of obedience 
on the part of each member to the community; and his 
exemption from all other responsibility, from which it 
is at once the right and the duty of the state to protect 
him. Deny this right, and you take away the conside- 
ration of his obedience. Remove this obligation, and 
you free the state from all responsibility for the acts of 
one whom you do not permit her to command and con- 
trol. The converse of this reasoning is equally just, 
and will prove, that by disallowing any one of the 
three grand principles of political association of which 
I have spoken, you abolish all the rest; you dissolve 
the cement of political society; you loosen its founda- 
tions; you break down the whole into one shapeless 
ruin, and remit its members to a state of rude nature. 
Here, then, you find the true idea of sovereignty. 
This it is that places on the elevated platform of per- 
fect equality, every political society, however consti- 
tuted, and of whatever magnitude. The republic treats 
on equal terms with the monarchy; the petty canton 
with the wide spread empire; for each brings to the 
negotiation the same unquestioned right to command 
the obedience of its people, and each frankly pledges 
the same unreserved responsibility for their acts. 

It would seem from what has been said that, in order 
to fulfil the purposes for which societies have been 
erected into governments, the attention of those who 
frame, and of those who administer them, should be 
primarily directed to two great objects. Of these the 
first is to preserve peace by such regulations as may 
prevent, or redress, or punish the wrongs of our own 
people to other nations, and to place ourselves in a 
condition to exact the like respect for our rights. The 
second is to order matters at home with a due regard 
4* 



42 

to the equal rights of all, securing to each citizen the 
tranquil enjoyment of life, liberty and property, pro- 
viding remedies for all injuries, prescribing punish- 
ments for all crimes, and enforcing all these regulations 
by a well arranged system of jurisprudence. A go- 
vernment which accomplishes these ends, and affords 
a reasonable security for their accomplishment in future, 
is a good government. We may have occasion here- 
after to consider the wisdom of comprehending other 
objects within the scope of its operations, and we may 
come to conclude that its energies may be wisely em- 
ployed in their accomplishment. But for the present 
we may confidently assume, that such a government as 
I have supposed is good, no matter how adopted, nor 
by whom prescribed; and that one which does not 
secure these important points is bad, though in the for- 
mation of it the most ingenious theories that were ever 
devised for the perfection of government, should have 
been faithfully studied and adopted. 

I beg you not to understand me as insinuating that 
there is no choice among the various theories of govern- 
ment. *Far from it. The very object of our present 
researches is to ascertain which is best among the dif- 
ferent theories to which the ingenuity of man, in all 
ages, has given birth. I would only persuade you to 
look, not to the beauty and symmetry of any proposed 
system, nor to its origin, but to its adaptation to the 
proper and necessary ends of government. We should 
ask ourselves, "is it like to effectuate these?" If so, 
it is worth a trial. But experience alone can decide 
whether it will effectuate them; and if, being tried, it 
fails to do so, then, whether imposed by force, or 
adopted by free choice; whether the creature of cir- 
cumstances, or the work of Solon, and Lycurgus, and 
Numa; whether prescribed by the authority of one, or 
adopted by the unanimous voice of millions, it is bad, 
and worthy of condemnation. In the language of a 
great master of political philosophy, "a government of 
five hundred obscure country curates and pettifogging 
attornies, is not good for twenty-four millions of peo- 
ple, even though it were chosen by forty-eight millions." 



43 

The world has seen many instances of governments 
devised on theoretical principles, mainly with a view 
to the security of equal rights. How these have suc- 
ceeded, history and the present abject condition of 
those countries which were the subjects of those expe- 
riments, show but too plainly. With the circumstances 
which attended the rise and progress and downfall of 
Home, which led her from freedom to despotism — 
which raised her to the utmost height of power, and 
plunged her into the lowest abyss of degradation, we 
are all familiar. We read too of Greece, the cradle 
of liberty, and the birthplace of art, science and litera- 
ture — and we see her, for near two thousand years, 
doomed to wear the chains of domestic usurpation or 
foreign tyranny. 

Is it then true, that that which is good in theory is 
bad in practice? Far from it. The truths taught by 
these examples, although humbling to the pride, and 
discouraging to the hopes of man, are not yet so dis- 
heartening as such a conclusion would be. But they 
teach us to act and to judge with caution. They teach 
us to distinguish between means and ends. They teach 
us that present enjoyment is not permanent security; 
and above all, they teach us that "the price of liberty 
is eternal vigilance." They show us the danger of 
beautiful and plausible theories, which, in proportion 
as they are beautiful and plausible, are calculated to 
lull vigilance into fatal slumber, and lead us to suspect, 
that a certain degree of deformity, and slight aberra- 
tions from theoretical perfection, may produce in them- 
selves no mischiefs which are not more than counter- 
balanced by the salutary diffidence of the system, and 
jealousy of its administrators, which they are calcu- 
lated to provoke. 

But, however we may cheer ourselves to our task, 
by indulging a hope that mankind, made wise by re- 
peated error, may at last detect the great arcanum on 
w r hich the adaptation of government to its proper ob- 
jects depends, the fulfilment of that hope is hardly to 
be expected in our day. The history of the world 
shows us all nations, that have ever tasted of liberty, 



44 

passing through the same appointed cycle, and, at longer 
or shorter periods,.returning to the same points. During 
the first few years that follow the establishment of 
freedom, the experience of its advantages and bless- 
ings commend it to the hearts of men, and make it an 
object of almost idolatrous devotion. But the pros- 
perity which accompanies it is too apt to debauch the 
mind. The sure rewards of industry, activity and en- 
terprise, make the pursuit of gain the prevailing habit, 
and the love of gain the master passion of the people. 
It is through this passion that the demagogue success- 
fully assails them; he corrupts them with the spoils of 
the treasury; he tempts them with the plunder of the 
rich; he engages them in the service of his profligate 
ambition; he gilds the fetters he prepares for them; 
and teaches them to wear them as the badges of party, 
and the trappings of distinction, until, familiar with 
their weight, they permit them to be rivetted on their 
limbs. 

The season, during which this process is going on, 
is the season of tumultuary elections, the reign of 
mobs and anarchy and lawless violence. It is the sea- 
son when leaders, drunk with ambition, and a rabble, 
drunk with flattery and alcohol, unite to plunder and 
oppress the middle classes, and shout the praises of 
parties and demagogues. 

This cannot last. The spoils which purchase the 
vote, and the shout, and the bludgeon of the labourer, 
debauch him into habits of wastefulness and sloth. 
The artizan becomes weary of his trade — the opera- 
tive impatient of his toil: the sources of wealth and 
prosperity are dried up, and the plundered hoards of 
avarice, and the rifled stores of provident benevolence, 
are soon exhausted. The means of supplying the 
wants of the countless multitude begin to fail, and 
their clamors assume a tone which warns their leader 
of approaching danger. The evil supplies its remedy. 
The mercenary voter affords the proper material for 
the mercenary soldier; and the habits of wastefulness 
and debauchery, which disqualify him for every other 
occupation, do but fit him for that. Improvidence and 



45 

sloth have made him feel the want of bread, and the 
paltry stipend of the soldier becomes an irresistible 
bribe. Happy they who are forward to secure it, and 
who, armed and organized, are equal to the task of 
curbing and chastising the petulant tempers of the 
multitude, their late associates! Then commences the 
long reign of military despotism — the empire of the 
sword. The duration of this is indefinite, and not 
liable to be determined by any change in the condition 
of society, produced by its own operation. Its ten- 
dencies are all to degrade and abase, and degradation 
and abasement can be carried no farther. In this 
"lowest depth there is no lower deep." The only hope 
of change is from the ''ignea vis" of the human mind, 
springing up with elastic recoil proportioned to the 
depth of its fall, and "in its proper motion reascend- 
ing up to its native seats." But the operation of such 
a state of things is to quench this fire, and repress its 
upward tendencies. Hence it is, that history nowhere 
shows us a direct transition from military despotism to 
free government. But there is no state of things so 
subject to partial changes, affecting the individual in- 
terests of the oppressor and his instruments, but rather 
aggravating than redressing the wrongs of the oppress- 
ed. The Janissaries will sometimes rebel against the 
Sultan; the Praetorian bands, impatient for new larges- 
ses, may raise up a candidate for empire, whose suc- 
cess may amply reward their services. Such things no 
otherwise affect the great body of the people, than as 
they are fatal to the property and lives of all who may 
become involved in them. 

But to the ruler himself they are of the last import- 
ance; and when Tiberius and Nero, and Caligula and 
Otho, and Vitellius and Domitian, have received the 
punishment of their crimes at the hands of their own 
minions, some wiser prince, some Trajan Adrian, or 
Antonine, perceives the necessity of creating a new 
order of men to stand between him and the sword of 
the mercenary. The materials for this will be sought 
among the valiant, the good, and wise, on whom ample 
and permanent benefits will be bestowed — the enjoy- 



46 

ment of which, depending on the life and power of the 
donor, will make them faithful in his defence. The 
establishment of such an aristocracy is seen to be ne- 
cessary by him, who, not dizzy and- drunk with the 
giddy height of his elevation, looks down from the 
lofty column of autocratic power, on the bleak expanse 
spread out below in one dead level of abject degrada- 
tion. He sees nothing to break the force of the storms 
which every wind of Heaven directs against his throne. 
He feels it continually shaking on its narrow base; and 
he feels the want of something to screen him from the 
blast, and of buttresses to prop and support him against 
its fury. If he is wise to choose his materials; if he 
selects the members of this aristocracy from among 
those whose public services, whose valor, whose virtue, 
whose wisdom, or whose descent from men so distin- 
guished, has already gained them favour with the sol- 
diery and the people, he will want nothing but time to 
establish himself and his posterity firmly on the throne. 
But to such a work time is indispensable. The life 
of one man is too short to perfect it ; and its accom- 
plishment depends upon a succession of princes aiming 
to effect the same purpose by the same means. 

When, in the providence of God, such a succession 
is vouchsafed to any people, it results in the establish- 
ment of a limited monarchy, based upon a virtuous 
aristocracy, endeared to the multitude below by the 
benefits which flow down from it, and shed their balm 
on hearts bruised by past oppressions; and heal the 
wounds the sword of the mercenary had inflicted, and 
refresh the waste places which his rapacity had made 
desolate. 

But the gratitude of the nobles for the favour of the 
prince, and that of the people for the patronage of the 
nobility, is not of long duration. A generation or two 
gives the character of established right to that which 
at first was gratuitous bounty: the great baron, when 
called on to show the title deeds of his estate, displays 
his sword, and in return receives the same answer from 
his subordinate vassal. Hence, jealousies arise; hence, 
ill will takes the place of grateful attachment; and the 



47 

same causes which sunder the baron from the prince 
above him, and the vassal below, tend to unite both in 
common cause against him. This tendency indeed is 
counteracted by the pride of place and birth, and gene- 
rations may pass away before a prince is found who 
can bring himself to subdue this feeling to his interest; 
to "enfeoff himself to popularity," and, by his favour 
to the people, to purchase their co-operation against the 
power of the nobility. But let a monarch appear, who 
proclaims himself the people's king — who foments their 
discontents against their immediate superiors, and en- 
courages resistance to their authority, seeking to detach 
the vassal from his former holdings, and by favour and 
flattery to bind him immediately to the throne. The 
natural consequence of this coalition will soon be seen 
in the degradation of all that intervenes between the 
crown and the lowest populace. The privileges of 
rank and rank itself will be abolished; the rights of 
property will be threatened and invaded; and, finally, 
the lofty pillar of royal authority will alone remain of 
all the fabric of government. But how long will it re- 
main ? If the props and buttresses of aristocracy were 
necessary to support it, while predominating over a 
wide waste slumbering in the calm of despotism, how 
shall it stand without them, when all the elements of 
society are tossing in wild confusion around it? It 
cannot stand. The next moment sees it fall with fear- 
ful crash, and its fragments, together with the wrecks 
of aristocratic power, are scattered abroad to fertilize 
the earth, and enrich its cultivators. 

Then again comes liberty — to a people not prepared 
to enjoy and cherish it, a single moment of wild and 
frightful anarchy — well exchanged for the despotism 
which presently follows. Here we find ourselves at the 
close of the cycle, returning after a long series of ages 
of revolution and convulsion, of oppression and blood 
and rapine, to the point from which we first set out. 

In the various phases of political society, as seen in 
its progress through these mutations, we perhaps catch 
glimpses of all the forms in which government is capa- 
ble of being moulded. Unfortunately, of those which 



48 

we would wish to perpetuate, we have little more than 
glimpses, while those aspects on which it is impossible 
to look without horror, we have full leisure to contem- 
plate and study. For, in considering the causes which 
lead to these various changes, it is lamentable to ob- 
serve, that that which is good is ever pregnant with a 
principle of self-destruction, while all the tendencies 
of evil are of a nature to perpetuate it, and can only 
be corrected by counteracting causes. 

There is certainly little in this thought to encourage 
us in our researches. Yet our only hope of success 
depends on our bearing this thought continually in mind. 
Could we certainly know what form of government 
was best for the happiness of man in its present opera- 
tion, we should have accomplished but half our task, 
unless we can devise some means to counteract that 
tendency to change, which makes the history of all 
that is excellent in human institutions, but the history 
of things that have been. Does it not seem that theo- 
retical, perfection involves so much of the principle of 
change and self-destruction, as to lead us to doubt 
whether it may not be necessary to surrender some- 
thing of what, in itself, is good for the sake of pre- 
serving and securing the rest? 

I have little doubt that this is true, and that our best 
hope of discovering that scheme of things which will 
most conduce to the permanent welfare of society, de- 
pends upon the relinquishment of some present advan- 
tages, as the price of stability and security for those 
that we retain. 

If, then, in looking through the history of man in all 
ages, we can fix upon some one form of government, 
which for the time being has been most favourable to 
happiness, and to the development of those moral and 
intellectual qualities, of which happiness is the natural 
fruit and deserved reward; if we find the recurrence 
of that form uniformly attended by the recurrence of 
the like desirable consequences; and if we can then 
devise certain changes and modifications, which, with- 
out detracting materially from such results, shall be 
calculated to prevent any farther change, we shall have 



49 

accomplished all that the political philosopher can pro- 
pose to himself. 

I believe that the framers of the constitution of Vir- 
ginia (and here, alas! I speak of that which has been, 
not of that which is) made as near an approach to the 
discovery and practical application of this arcanum, as 
any statesmen that ever lived. The devisers of the 
federal constitution had before them a more difficult 
task; but they went to it with the same general views 
and purposes, and executed it in a manner that well 
deserves the admiration of mankind. 

In considering then, what government should be, 
abstractedly from its tendency to change, and devising 
the cheapest and most efficient means of restraining 
that tendency, we shall find ourselves following in 
great measure the footsteps of the authors of our insti- 
tutions. In marking those changes which have taken 
place, we must mark their fitness to the great end ori- 
ginally proposed, and especially their tendency to pro- 
mote or counteract the farther progress of innovation. 
We may thus discover what progress we have made in 
performing that political cycle, which it may be our 
destiny, as it has been that of every other people, to 
accomplish. We may discover whether there is any 
hope that we may escape its fulfilment, and even though 
w r e may conclude that we cannot retrace our steps and 
turn back the appointed course of events, it may be of 
service to ascertain the means of checking the car of 
destiny in its fatal career, and postponing the evil day 
when the history of the liberty and happiness of Vir- 
ginia shall but furnish school -boy's themes in distant 
lands. The sun of freedom seems fated to pursue its 
westward course around the globe, carrying with it the 
blessings of art and science, and virtue- and religion, 
to lands never yet warmed by its rays; and finally, 
perhaps, to shed its full glory on the same classic scenes 
which first glowed under its kindling beams. In that 
day, when the statesman of the future Greece or Rome 
shall look back through thousands of years to the his- 
tory of what his country once had been, his eye may 
rest midway on the page that records the virtues and 
5 



50 

triumphs of Washington, the mild wisdom of Franklin, 
the eloquence of Henry, and the political sagacity of 
Jefferson. These he will collate with Solon, and Ly- 
curgus, and Thales, and Miltiades, and Cimon, and 
Aristides, and Demosthenes; with Numa, and Camillus, 
and Cincinnatus, and Cicero, and Cato; and while, in 
their enduring fame, he finds assurance of the high re- 
wards that await his own labours in the cause of free- 
dom and virtue, his heart will bleed at the thought that 
his labours themselves, like theirs, shall fade away, and 
leave his countrymen nothing but the sad remembrance 
of blessings wasted by abuse, lost by supineness, and 
forfeited by crime. 

Do you, my young friends, propose to add your 
names to that bright constellation, which, revolving 
around the steady pole of virtue and truth, shall never 
dip below the horizon, but while the world shall stand, 
and long after the sun of our glory shall be set forever, 
will continue to shed its melancholy light on your be- 
nighted country ? Do you propose to add yourselves 
to the number of those to whose tombs, in future ages, 
the Muse shall point, reproaching your descendants 
with their degeneracy? Or, turning aside from the 
pursuit of truth and the cultivation of virtue, will you 
familiarize your lips with the cant of the demagogue 
or courtier, and qualify yourselves to minister to the 
licentiousness of the people, or the pride, vanity and 
ambition of their rulers? 

If the latter is your choice, I advise you to avoid 
this place. You will hear nothing here which shall 
prepare you to play the part of parasite or demagogue, 
the flatterer of prince or people. I dare not indulge 
the hope that your nobler aspirations will derive any 
essential aid from my suggestions, but I can, at least, 
promise you that my best endeavours shall be faithfully 
exerted to search out the truth and lay it plainly before 
you. Nor shall I profess a treacherous indifference to 
the choice which you shall make, between what is 
popular and what is true. However agreeable it may 
be to cherish our own prejudices; however politic it 
may seem to cultivate and flatter the prejudices of 

/ 



51 

others, I shall never cease to endeavour to convince 
you that such are not the means of true happiness or 
true honour. The "echo of folly and shadow of re- 
nown," which is the short-lived reward of the dema- 
gogue, who goes to his grave dreaming of fame, and 
straightway is forgotten, I trust will have no charms 
for you. Do what you will, so long as you retain a 
love of truth and honour, you will be easily outstrip! 
in the race of vulgar popularity, by men every way 
your inferiors, who have but divested themselves of any 
inconvenient regard for these troublesome and cumbrous 
principles. While you are working out the complex 
problem of expediency and right, men who think only 
of the expedient, will already have chosen their part, 
and accomplished their purposes, leaving you no other 
honour but that of being esteemed half a fool, because 
not wholly a knave. 

But, gentlemen, in the faithful pursuit of political 
truthj in the diligent study of political philosophy, a 
high and sure reward awaits you. For speculate as 
we may, we have an interest in what the world shall 
think of us when we are no more, though of that, he who 
lived a thousand years ago, and he who died but yester- 
day, alike know nothing. But such is the nature of man. 

-" For, from his birth the sovereign maker said, 
That not in humble, nor in brief delight, 
Nor in the fading echoes of renown, 
Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap, 
The soul shall find enjoyment. 
For why was man so eminently raised 
Above the fair creation 1 why ordained 
Thro' life and death to dart his piercing eye, 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame'? 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, 
In sight of mortal and immortal powers, 
As on a boundless theatre to run 
The high career of justice ; to exalt 
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 
To chase each partial purpose from his breast; 
And thro' the mists of passion, and of sense, 
And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain, 
To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice 
Of Truth and Virtue up the steep ascent 
Of nature, calls him to his high reward, 
The approving smile of Heaven." 



52 



LECTURE III. 

The Primary Form of Incipient Government. 

It may seem that, in my introductory lecture, I laid 
unnecessary stress on a subject, at this day so merely 
speculative, as the origin of societies and govern- 
ments. The ideas therein advanced are, nevertheless, 
susceptible of a practical and important application. 

It is certainly important to ascertain the proper and 
primary ends of government. To effect this, what 
means more obvious, than to enquire into those wants 
and weaknesses of human nature, which render such 
an institution necessary to man ? If we can discover 
these, we shall see what were the objects he proposed 
to himself, in its first establishment. In proportion to 
the importance of these objects, it was the office of 
government, in the first instance, to devote itself to 
their attainment. Such of them as are connected with 
Natural and immutable causes, we shall see, can never 
lose their importance; and they should continue to be, 
as, at first, they undoubtedly were, the primary objects 
of all governments. 

The question, then, what were the objects of govern- 
ment, in its first institution, is little else, than another 
form of stating that most important question, "what 
should be the primary objects of governments at this 
day?" The answers to both may not indeed be iden- 
tical, because the progress of society may have given 
rise to artificial wants, not less important than those 
w r hich are natural. To these, too, attention must be 
paid. But the question will not be, whether such arti- 
ficial wants shall be provided for, but whether:*he others 
which are natural and inherent shall be postponed to 
them. It will be time to consider this hereafter. 

Society we have seen originating in necessity, and 
that, not as an affair of convention freely entered into, 
but as one of the very conditions of the existence of 
the human race. The necessity of preserving it is 
rather to be considered as an original than a secondary 



53 

want; and the means of preserving it would be of no 
less importance to the preservation of the species, than 
the means of procuring food. Let its permanency be 
threatened, and men should address themselves to the 
task of securing it, in the same self-denying spirit 
which sustains the hunter in the toils of the chase, and 
the husbandman between the handles of his plough. 

What then are the dangers to which the duration of 
society is exposed ? I answer, 

1. Dissension within. 

2. Violence from without. 

The sources of dissension are wrong. To prevent 
this, the motives must be taken away, or countervail- 
ing motives provided. The first is effected by resti- 
tution which deprives the wrong-doer of the advantages 
of the wrong : the second by punishment which deters. 

But to enforce retribution or inflict punishment, 
authority is necessary; and the execution of this au- 
thority will itself bear the semblance of wrong, unless 
sanctioned by some general commission to act on proper 
occasions. Such authority is government, and such 
commission is the constitution establishing it. 

The causes of external violence are infinitely various. 
Between primitive communities, it would most com- 
monly manifest itself in attempts on the part of one 
community to avenge the wrongs of a member thereof, 
received at the hands of a member of another commu- 
nity. If this were well founded, it might be borne. 
If not, it must be resisted. Whether well or ill-founded, 
is a question to be decided by somebody. The injured 
party is an unsafe judge. The object of enquiry is 
indeed to satisfy the compatriots of the accused that 
they ought not to protect him. To them, therefore, the 
judgment must be ultimately committed, and to them it 
is consequently as well to entrust it at once. But an 
authority to decide must be created by general consent, 
and in the exercise of this authority is one of the func- 
tions of government. Whether the convicted offender 
is punished at home, or given up to be punished by the 
other party, it is alike by the authority of his own com- 
munity that he is condemned and punished. 
5* 



54 

Should the offended community be dissatisfied with 
a decision in favour of the offender, redress must be 
sought by force, and to direct or to repel this force with 
effect, requires combined and concentred action. To 
effect this, a common authority, acting by commission 
from the whole community, is necessary, and in the 
exercise of this authority we see another function of 
government. Let these different authorities be duly 
established, and wisely and justly administered, and 
all the ends of government to a primitive community 
will be completely secured. There is nothing more 
that government can do for such a people. 

The exercise of such authority is not only reconcile- 
able to all just ideas of freedom, but is indispensable 
to its enjoyment. So long as such a government de- 
rives its authority from consent, and its force from 
opinion, so long they who live under it are free, no 
matter by whom it may be administered. 

This remark, the justice of which cannot be ques- 
tioned, may help us to account for a fact of which all 
history .testifies. Had government in its infancy been 
the same that we see it in advanced stages of society, 
its structure as cumbrous, its objects as various, its 
powers as. formidable, and its discipline as searching, 
it could never be expected that the free spirit of any 
people, for the first time consenting to any restraint, 
could be brought to bow to the will of one man. Yet 
in tracing back to their origin all the governments with 
the early history of which we are acquainted, we find 
them all cast in the monarchical form. To careful 
reflection on the fact as it was, nothing can appear more 
natural. We can hardly conceive how any society of 
men, as yet strangers to v the restraints of government, 
could have been kept together, without the presence of 
some one man to whom most others would look up as a 
model of integrity and an oracle of wisdom. Such a 
one would have been already distinguished by occa- 
sional appeals to him as an arbitrator and adviser. His 
word, by frequent exercise of these offices, would 
already have acquired something like the force of law, 
while as yet there was no law, and his authority would 



55 

more frequently take its rise in habitual recognition, 
than in any distinct act of authorization. Hence the 
possessors of this authority were so often old men. 
Time alone can give rise to habitual deference, and 
then time ratifies it, because men grow up in reverence 
for others whom they find recognised as objects of re- 
spect by those, to whom the ties of blood, and the 
habitudes of the domestic relation, secure their respect. 

I am aware that this account of the primitive charac- 
ter of government, is at variance with all the theories 
of the social compact which have been put forth. But 
if these theories are at variance with all we know of 
the early history of the human race, shall we reject the 
testimony of history, or shall we permit ourselves to 
doubt the justice of these theories, and endeavour to 
take such a view of human nature as shall reconcile 
philosophy to history. If I find what I seek, I shall 
rest content. If not, must I submit to the conviction, 
that all that has come down to us from remote anti- 
quity is alike fabulous. Must I not only doubt whether 
such men as Agamemnon and Nestor, and Ulysses ever 
existed, but must I question too the existence of the 
little kingdoms of Argos, Pylos and Ithaca, and even 
hesitate to admit there ever was such a state of society 
as Homer has depicted. To do this, I must forget that, 
in this view, poetry is the truest history. The poet 
may be false to fact, but he must be true to nature. He 
may fabricate particulars, but he must not falsify what 
every body knows to be true. 

In the face of these considerations, I am slow to be- 
lieve that governments were first formed by a recogni- 
tion of a right either natural or conventional, in a ma- 
jority, however small, of any society, then for the first 
time submitting itself to government, to bind the rest. 

I am ready to admit, that should a number of men, 
at this day, and in our advanced state of society, freely 
and voluntarily undertake to establish % new govern- 
ment; men perfectly equal in their conventional as well 
as their natural rights, uninfluenced by any sinister 
bias, and honestly seeking to secure and promote the 
common good, there can be little doubt that they would 



56 

choose the democratic form. To do otherwise, would 
be not only to reject the teachings of experience, but 
to act without motive and against motive. Such a case 
would completely falsify that most important truth, for 
which I shall earnestly contend, and on which hangs 
all the philosophy of government, "that government is 
the creature of circumstances." 

Should any old established society resolve to break 
up its original incorporation and organization, and re- 
establish itself on a new foundation, and in a new form, 
that form would probably be democratic. Whether it 
would be so or not, would mainly depend on recent ex- 
perience. Should the supposed revolution be brought 
about by impatience of the evils, real or imaginary, of 
democracy, a different form might be preferred; but if 
provoked by the insolence and oppression of a mo- 
narchy or aristocracy, a resort to the democratic form 
would be the most probable remedy. 

Let us even suppose, that, before any thing like go- 
vernment was known on earth, men could have continu- 
ed together united by none but the soft ties of recipro- 
cal good-will, until their numbers amounted to tens and 
hundreds of thousands, widely scattered, embracing all 
the varieties of character, occupation and interest in- 
separable from that state of things. In such a case 
there is little reason to believe that they could agree 
among themselves to confer supreme authority upon 
one man. None could be found, whose merit, however 
great, would be known to more than a very small num- 
ber. The dead calm, which such a state of things pre- 
supposes, would afford no opportunities of distinction, 
and perhaps the head of every family would be sup- 
posed, by the members of that family, to be a wiser and 
a better man than any other. The result of this would 
be a perfect equality among the whole, or at least among 
the heads of families, constituting a sort of paternal 
aristocracy, liftle differing from a pure democracy. 

One or the other of these cases seems always in the 
contemplation of the theorist, who speculates about the 
social compact and the origin of government. But of 



57 

these three cases, the two first presuppose the existence 
of government, and the third is plainly impossible. 

The real point of enquiry applies to a number of in- 
dividuals as yet wholly unacquainted with government, 
in any form, and who have just lived long enough to- 
gether to find out, that, to secure the regular and har- 
monious performance of social duty, it is necessary 
that authority, in some form, should come in aid of 
mutual good will and the natural sense of right and 
wrong. 

The very nature of the case implies that the number 
must be very small, and that among those who should 
agree thus to come together, under the restraint of any 
common authority, the most perfect harmony and sin- 
gleness of views must prevail. What could be more 
natural, under such circumstances, than that men should 
at once agree to entrust the slight authority to which 
alone they would consent to submit, to the hands of 
some one man, long known among them as the friend 
and guide and counsellor of others, and the habitual 
arbiter of their little differences. We have seen that 
the first germ of government would spring from such 
arbitrations, and perhaps the want of a public authority 
would be first felt in the necessity of enforcing such 
awards ? What is, in fact, more perfectly consistent 
with the spirit of freedom in its wildest mood, than a 
disposition to follow out the suggestions of some one 
man, whom even the caprice of the moment chooses as 
a leader ? 

It is the remark of one of the wisest of political phi- 
losophers, that we are so much habituated to acquiesce 
in the decisions of majorities, that we have come to 
recognise their authority as a sort of law of nature, 
to which we suppose men to have submitted from the 
first. But there is nothing in the discipline of society 
to which they are brought to yield in the first instance 
with more difficulty. At this time of day, and in this 
country, we do so, as a matter of course; for the right 
of a majority to bind, is the fundamental principle of 
all our institutions. But sacred as this principle is 
with us, how reluctantly do we often acquiesce in its 



58 

results! And how can we bring ourselves to believe, 
that men, without the help of long training, can be 
brought to submit cheerfully to the will of a bare ma- 
jority, at a moment when their minds have been exas- 
perated by controversy, and soured by defeat, and 
when, perhaps, the great preponderance of wisdom, 
ability, prowess and merit of every kind migh-t be on 
the side of the less numerous party ? Trust me, gen- 
tlemen, the constructive presence of the will of the 
whole, in a bare majority, is one of the most violent 
fictions of law, and one of the last that men can be 
brought to acknowledge as practically true.* 

On the other hand, the commission of the public au- 
thority of a petty community, such as I have supposed, 
to the hands of one man, is one of the most natural 
results of the workings of the popular principle. Under 
such circumstances there would be nothing to alarm 
the friends of freedom, if, indeed, an idea of any thing 
but freedom had as yet entered the mind of any man. 
In large communities, the power of a chief, once popular, 
often rests on a mistaken opinion of the continuance 
of his popularity. Thus the power .of Robespierre 
was never more formidable, and never seemed more 
secure, than just before his fall. While each thought 
him the choice of all the rest, each concealed his hatred 
under clamorous displays of devotion; but the moment 
that delusion was dispelled — the moment each man 
found out that he was as odious to others as to himself, 
all were eager to imbrue their hands in his blood, and 
he was hunted to destruction, with a ferocity hardly 
less savage than his own. In a little community of 
fifty or a hundred individuals, no such fatal misappre- 
hension of public sentiment would be possible; and 
the idea, that the power conferred to-day might not, at 
pleasure, be revoked to-morrow, would not present 
itself to the mind of any one. 

I will even venture to express a doubt, whether the 
right of a majority to dictate, even in the choice of a 
ruler, would at first be recognised as a matter of course, 

* Burke's appeal from the new to the old whigs. 



59 

I have already observed, that the harmony which must 
accompany a disposition in any number of persons, 
before living in a state of natural liberty, to establish 
over themselves a civil authority, could hardly prevail, 
unless among them, there were some one man, distin- 
guished above the rest, for exalted qualities. The pre- 
sence of two such would be a source of strife. The 
case, therefore, presupposes a degree of unanimity, 
under the decision of which the question of the right 
of the majority would be postponed unthought of. But 
should such a diversity of sentiment exist, as the pre- 
sence of two men equally esteemed and beloved might 
produce, the remedy would be in separation, and the 
establishment of two communities instead of one. We 
must remember that we are speaking of a Nomadic 
tribe, having no settled habitations. We have a pre- 
cedent for the settlement of any discussions among 
such, whether about the choice of a leader, or any 
thing else, in the case of the strife between the fol- 
lowers of Abram and Lot. "The land was before them, 
and one went to the right hand, the other to the left." 

It has been the singular fortune of the people of the 
United States, to have been placed by providence in 
circumstances which have enabled them to prosecute 
hopefully an experiment on tree government, at a time 
when the condition of the rest of the civilized world 
had seemed to fix the destiny of all the most enlight- 
ened nations under bondage to authority not derived 
froro the consent of the governed. Another peculiarity 
in our destiny is this. With all the illumination de- 
rived from our own experience in government, super- 
added to that inherited from our Anglo-Saxon ances- 
tors, and our communication with the most refined and 
philosophical nations of Europe, we have been placed 
in juxta-position with man in the rudest forms of 
society, and in the very infancy of government. We 
have thus been enabled to bring the eye of science to 
the inspection of nature in her most primitive aspect, 
and to view, as through a sort of moral microscope, 
the first germs of civil authority as they begin to de- 
velope themselves to satisfy the wants of society. In 



60 

the object thus brought before us, we see the original 
of the picture which I have been sketching. We see 
a people among whom, as yet, society has imperfectly 
hardened into government. Among them we find that 
the. principle of aggregation spends its force, when it 
has united together a few hundred individuals, and is 
presently counteracted by a principle of repulsion to 
the rest of mankind. In those tribes which, under the 
teachings of their white neighbours, have made some 
advances toward settlement and cultivation, we hear of 
associations embracing larger numbers. In the ruder 
sort, we see that even the petty hordes that bear a 
common name, are subdivided into yet more minute 
associations, each with its separate and independent 
chief, occupying localities widely distant from each 
other, and recognising no tie, but that of a friendly re- 
lation growing out of the recollection of a common 
origin. As an example of this, let me say that I have 
personal knowledge of no less than four independent 
bands of the Shawanee race, who were but lately scat- 
tered from the shores of the lakes to the banks of the 
Red river, each having its own peculiar range. I once 
saw assembled the whole force of one of these, said to 
be the most enlightened and numerous. The band 
numbered only about seventy warriors. Their chief 
was a venerable man in green old age, highly respected, 
and unhesitatingly obeyed. Such is the only authority 
known among these people. Yet where on earth was 
the spirit of liberty ever fiercer or more indomitable 
than among them? Where was it better guarded and 
fortified by vigilance, sagacity, activity, simplicity of 
manners, hardihood, boldness and fortitude, than among 
this peculiar race ? None ever existed more worthy 
to engage the attention of the philosopher, and the 
sympathy of the philanthropist, than this people, in the 
midst of whose rudeness we find an intellectual power 
hardly inferior to that of the early Greeks, and who, 
if they outlive the wrongs and persecutions of barba- 
rous civilization, bid fair to contest the empire of men- 
tal supremacy with the Homo sapiens. Europeus him- 
self. 



61 

In short, gentlemen, the great error of those who 
speculate on the origin of government is this. They 
seem to consider it as a thing struck out at a single 
heat, and from the first endued with all the powers 
necessary to the affairs of a civilized and enlightened 
people. The example I have given proves, and a mo- 
ment's reflection should convince us, that this is not so. 
The necessity for some control over the actions of in- 
dividuals is felt long before the minds of men are pre- 
pared to submit to those multiplied restraints, which, 
in a more advanced state of society, are found to be 
indispensable. The powers necessary for this purpose 
in a society composed of but a few individuals, can no- 
where be so safely placed as in the hands of one man. 
They are not such as he has any temptation to abuse. 
He holds them by no warrant that may not, at any 
moment, be revoked. He holds them by no tenure but 
that of opinion. His position implies no advantages 
to make it desirable but as a post of honour. Hence 
the control of opinion over his actions, is unbalanced 
by any sordid or ambitious views, and, as he has none 
to share responsibility, that control is absolute. 

The example teaches two things, both of which we 
learn also from remote history, and both of which I 
have endeavoured to establish by reasoning from cause 
to consequence. 

The first is, that there is a limit, and a very restrict- 
ed limit, to the principle of aggregation in the uncul- 
tivated man. The necessities that drive him into so- 
ciety are few, though imperious. They are satisfied 
by a connection with a few friends, and they are of a 
nature to make him shrink from a connection with any 
but friends. An extensive and promiscuous associa- 
tion, would expose him to many of the very dangers 
against which he seeks security in society. When this, 
by the natural process of procreation, advances beyond 
a certain number, a portion find themselves drawn to- 
gether by bonds of peculiar and exclusive attachment, 
and finally separate from the rest. 

The second proposition proved by this example is, 
that, in such embryo societies, the first idea of govern- 
6 



62 

ment is derived from a habit of deference to one man, 
and that when the authority of government comes first 
to be distinctly recognised, it is always personated by 
a single individual speaking and acting on behalf of 
all. 

I cannot permit myself to dismiss this topic, gentle- 
men, without suggesting an application of what I have 
said, which may convince you that I have not been 
actuated by a spirit of vague speculation, or a taste for 
antiquarian research. I will point out here an infer- 
ence, to which 1 shall hereafter endeavour to lead you, 
and which is, in some measure, justified by the exam- 
ple of the untamed wanderer of the forest, exulting in 
the consciousness of the wildest freedom, while recog- 
nising a form of government, whose only feature 
awakens in our minds no thought but of the most ab- 
ject slavery. To the civilized inhabitants of cities and 
cultivated regions, the unbalanced rule of a single man 
is despotism. To him whose subsistence is drawn from 
the forest, and whose home is under whatever tree 
affords him shelter, it leaves the enjoyment of perfect 
freedom. 

What makes the difference ? It is in the men and in 
the circumstances in which they are placed. These 
make government what it is; generally in its form, 
always in its practical effects. In the beginning both 
are alike the creature of circumstances. Then go- 
vernment attempts no more than to protect natural 
rights by providing substitutes for those natural reme- 
dies which it necessarily takes away. It is not until 
men advance so far as to begin to speculate on theories 
of government, and to copy the institutions of other 
countries, without due consideration of their fitness, 
that laws and systems are found to embrace any but 
such points as the actual condition of the people com- 
mends to the attention of the lawgiver. Legislation is 
then often carried ahead of the actual wants and con- 
dition of the people. Our own code is full of instances 
of this, and of proof that such legislation is but a dead 
letter. Such laws are not enforced. Public sentiment 
forbids it. But if, in defiance of that, attempts are 



63 

made to enforce them, they are either successfully 
evaded or presently repealed. Our statute book is 
full of such sleeping lions which no man dares awaken. 
Innumerable provisions of the common law, which 
were well adapted to a former state of society, are 
still retained, though now inapplicable to our own. On 
the other hand instances may be found, where innova- 
tions prematurely introduced, are equally inoperative. 
Sometimes the two extremes meet together. A few 
centuries ago, the duel was regulated by law in Eng- 
land,* it held an honourable place among her institu- 
tions, and was recognised as one mode of deciding 
legal controversies. By a change, for which the public 
mind was unprepared, duelling was denounced as highly 
criminal, and death in a duel was declared to be punish- 
able as murder. Has it ever been so punished ? Never. 
In no single instance. At the same time, it is amusing 
to see, that the trial by battle, though disused, was, but a 
few years ago, among the forms known to the law. 
With us it is still nominally in force. Do we ever hear 
of its employment ? Exactly as often as we see a man 
hanged for killing his adversary in a duel. 

To a certain extent, indeed, our law against duelling 
executes itself, by means which evade the co'ntrol of 
public sentiment. Yet the result illustrates what I have 
said. Such mitigation to the supposed injustice as 
public sentiment can afford, it applies. The sympathy 
of the people goes with the victim of that law. He 
must perjure himself, or hold no office in the gift of 
the state. The consequence is, that any office under 
the federal government, that he is qualified to hold, is 
eagerly bestowed. The legislature itself, which enacts 
the law, will send him to the senate of the United 
States, if he has talents for the post. Men of inferior 
endowments are otherwise provided for. One having 
the least pretensions to a seat in the legislature, has 
but to kill his man in a duel, and he is straightway sent 
to congress. 

Yet those obsolete maxims and premature enact- 
ments, which are wholly inoperative, have still the out- 
ward semblance of laws. But are they laws to you or 



64 

me? Do we govern ourselves by them? Does any 
man dream of enforcing them? Yet wherein do they 
differ from constitutional powers, which the ruler dares 
not exercise, and constitutional rights which the people 
dare not assert? These, too, are dead letters. In 
spite of the first, they who are free in spirit will be 
free. In spite of the latter, the craven, who is a slave 
in heart, must be and remain a slave. 

I shall not, at this moment, press this topic any 
farther. I have said enough to entitle me to assume it 
for the present. But I shall never lose sight of it. I 
beg you not to do soj for I will not disguise from you, 
gentlemen, that the object of these lectures is not to 
conduct your minds in any Utopian enquiry after what 
is called "a best in government." There is no best in 
government. That which is best for one people, is not 
best for another. There can be no best, where there is 
no freedom. But it is not the office of free govern- 
ment to qualify a people for it. It must find them 
already so qualified. It can never make them so. 
The capacity for freedom is a capacity for self-govern- 
ment; and, wanting that, a people restored to freedom 
will but use it to seek a master. The rigid mould of 
despotism may act upon the subject mass, and shape it 
to its purpose j but, in all other cases, the reverse of 
this takes place. 

But I repeat, that I do but assume these maxims for 
the present, for the purpose of showing that my pre- 
ceding remarks, though apparently but speculative, 
might lead to practical results. I hope you will find it 
so in all cases. It will be my great object, throughout 
my whole course of lectures, to establish the proposi- 
tions I have here hinted. It is my purpose to awaken 
you to a sense of the danger of trusting too much to 
forms. No walls can protect a sleeping garrison. And 
how often are these forms but illusory! How often do 
they divert the attention from the true point of danger! 
How often are they but as outworks, on which the skill 
of the engineer is elaborately displayed, while the ene- 
my is already within the fortress! A people beguiled 
into entire confidence in such defences, is already lost. 



65 



Sunk in sloth, enervated by indulgence, corrupted by 
luxury, and lulled by flattery, they sleep in fond secu- 
rity, and awake in chains. 



LECTURE IV. 

The Body Politic. What is it? 

In my last lecture I advanced the proposition that 
government, in the beginning, was the creature of cir- 
cumstances; and I showed, both from history and ob- 
servation, that, in that stage, it is just what reason, 
looking to circumstances, would infer that it must be. 

To this course I attribute the fact, that those few 
circumstances, which are common to all men every- 
where, have impressed themselves on all the govern- 
ments that exist or have existed. I have shown you 
how society is necessary to man, and government to 
society, and how, in all governments, we find certain 
principles, which adapt them to the great purpose of 
preserving society, and securing the chief end of so- 
ciety itself — the safety of the individual. A few ad- 
ditional remarks will not be amiss in this place. 

The creation of society necessarily implies the for- 
mation of relative ties, and the development of relative 
rights and obligations before unknown.* The savage, 
who, for the purpose of securing protection to his chil- 
dren, and to the mother of his children, connects him- 
self with others, requires some recognition of his rights 
as a husband and a father, which may secure him from 
receiving injury at the hands of those to whom he looks 

* Observe that this is said in reference to society, not govern- 
ment. The right of the husband to the exclusive enjoyment of 
his wife's person, is the result of a natural right in her, "and will 
continue while she prefers him. But this does not prevent an- 
other from seducing- her. His duty not to do this is a social 
dutv. 

6* 



66 

for aid. Hence we everywhere find that more or less 
regard to the sanctity of the connubial tie, forms an 
essential part of the rudest systems of jurisprudence. 
The rights of property are also seen to receive atten- 
tion from the laws. This becomes necessary, as soon 
as the sense of security encourages a man to appropri- 
ate to himself more than the few rude garments and 
implements, which he can carry about his person. The 
regulation which guards his ownership of that which is 
not in his actual possession, is an artificial innovation 
on the primary law of occupancy, in which all separate 
property originates. This, too, is universal. So far 
as the recognition and protection of these rights re- 
quire any provision for that purpose, so far all govern- 
ments are found to be alike. They may vary in the 
degree of sanctity ascribed to these things: they do 
vary in the safeguards and remedies devised, but all 
recognise and enforce respect to them. 

At the same time it is remarkable, that, in savage 
communities, the absolute and personal rights of indi- 
viduals, which are not the creatures of municipal regu- 
lation or social discipline, are left as society and go- 
vernment found them, to the protection which the un- 
adulterated law of nature afforded. Society has already 
made some progress, when the right of personal security 
is made the subject of municipal regulation. The hand 
is, at first, left to guard the headj and each man con- 
tinues, as before, the avenger, in the last resort, of his 
own personal wrongs. The right of personal security 
is not the creature of society. Municipal law has 
neither given nor impaired it, and therefore leaves it 
where it was before. Not so with the right of property. 
This is enlarged in a degree which calls for the protec- 
tion of laws. The thief, therefore, is punished as a 
public offender. The murderer is left to the vengeance 
of the kindred of his victim. That which these sub- 
mit to, society does not complain of. That which they 
want the courage or strength to punish, is overlooked 
by the rest. Not only is this true of such barbarian 
tribes as the savages of this continent, but traces of a 
similar state of things are to be found in the laws of 



67 

the most civilized nations to this day. The appeal of 
murder is clearly a relic of it. 

But although municipal law has been slow to add 
any thing to the sanctions of the law of nature, for the 
protection of the persons of individuals of the same 
community, there is no society so rude, that it does 
not profess to recognise the obligation to punish, as a 
public offence, the murder of a member of another 
community. In searching for the reason of this differ- 
ence, we shall find it by recurring to some of the ideas 
I have already laid before you. We have seen that 
one of the principal ends of the establishment of go- 
vernment is to provide, in the collective responsibility 
of the whole, a substitute for the responsibility of the 
individual aggressor to any member of another com- 
munity who may complain of wrong. The society in- 
terferes between the avenger of blood and his victim, 
and, in so doing, assumes the duty of punishing the 
offender, or delivering him up to punishment, if, on 
enquiry, he be found guilty. This is done for the sake 
of peace; and, on the vigorous impartiality with which 
this duty is performed, depends the peace of both com- 
munities. To screen the aggressor openly, or by a 
mere show of prosecution, is to make his offence the 
offence of the whole body. Depriving the injured party 
of his natural redress, they are bound to furnish a sub- 
stitute therefor. 

Communities, by thus charging themselves with the 
acts of individuals, assume a moral responsibility which 
constitutes, them a sort of artificial moral persons; and 
to these artificial persons the language of political 
science gives the name ©f bodies politic. In prose- 
cuting our investigations, we shall find it necessary to 
acquire accurate ideas of this phrase, and there is no 
fitter time than the present, for instituting an inquiry 
into its true meaning, and the nature of the thing 
designated by it. 

I knew no better method of conducting this enquiry 
than by announcing, in the outset, a definition of a 
body politic, and then proceeding to vindicate and ex- 
plain the terms of that definition. 



68 

A body politic, then, is a society of men, perma- 
nently united for the purpose of promoting their com- 
mon welfare, and possessing within and of itself a 
right, derived from the consent of the parties, and re- 
cognised by the rest of the world, to regulate the civil 
conduct of its members. 

I am not aware that this definition has been given 
by any author, though its correctness may be establish- 
ed by the writings of all. Vattel, for example, pro- 
nounces "a nation to be a body politic or society of 
men united together for the purpose of promoting their 
mutual safety and advantage by the joint efforts of their 
combined strength." 

This definition I have been constrained to reject. 
According to this it is such an association as may be 
found in any band of robbers, or crew of pirates. 
Such associations would, doubtless, be glad to be re- 
cognised as nations, for the purpose of escaping the 
punishment due to their crimes. But all the world 
are, for the same reason, interested in denying them 
that character. 

This definition would also embrace a caravan of 
merchants, traversing the deserts of Africa, or the 
wilds of America, and even the captain and crew of a 
merchant ship upon the ocean. This would be indeed 
of less dangerous consequence, but still more absurd, 
for such associations have no interest in claiming a 
national character. Their individual members desire 
and profess to retain their original connection with 
their respective countries; and on this they rely, and 
to this they appeal for redress of their wrongs, against 
each other, as well as strangers. 

From these considerations it is manifest that this de- 
finition is too broad. As if aware of this, the author 
tells us presently after, that every body politic has a 
right "to govern its members in every thing that relates 
to the common welfare." This, although true, is so 
stated as to introduce another and grosser error, instead 
of correcting the first. Take this proposition in con- 
nection with his definition, and the result will be, 
"that every society of men united together for the pur- 



69 

pose of promoting their mutual safety and advantage 
by the joint efforts of their combined strength, has a 
right to govern its members in all things relating to the 
common welfare." If this be true, then the crew of 
pirates, or the gang of banditti, are at once established in 
a right which places them on a footing with Alexander, 
Caesar, and Bonaparte, in the eye of the law of nations. 
The resolutions of the association or its chief, may be 
morally wrong in both cases, but individuals can never 
be blamed for obeying those who have a right to com- 
mand their obedience. Some miniature St. Helena 
must be contrived for Rinaldo Rinaldini, and other 
worthies of the same stamp, and the execution of his 
accomplices would be visited with the indignation of 
the world, like the slaughter of Marshal Ney. 
- These objections to a definition which I find current 
in the world, have led me to suggest such modifications 
as may remove them. It will be seen that, according 
to that which I have given, the authority of the body- 
over its members must be inherent and not derived. 
Without this we might have embraced a mere corpo- 
ration. But as the binding authority of such a body 
owes its force to an authority above that, such a case is 
excluded. Such, by way of distinction, are called 
bodies corporate. I have said moreover, that the right 
of a body politic to govern its members, must be de- 
rived from the consent of the parties, and rectJgnised 
by the rest of the world. These two propositions are, 
apparently, quite distinct from each other, yet their 
mutual dependence is such that I shall not treat them 
separately. If you bear in mind what I have already- 
said, you will see, that it would be absurd for any one 
to submit himself to be governed in ail things, by an 
authority not acknowledged by the rest of the world $ 
and it would be absurd for mankind at large to recog- 
nise the authority of a society, unless that authority 
was admitted by its members. That the right of every 
society to command its members must be derived from 
their consent, is proved by the natural equality of man. 
Unless one man be born with more rights than another. 



70 

none can have a natural right to govern another.* In 
a state of nature, therefore, every man must possess 
the right of self-government, and on this right no limi- 
tation can be rightfully imposed but by his own con- 
sent. 

That consent may be either express or implied. 
Foreign states will have a right to imply it from mere 
acquiescence, and it is no concern of theirs whether 
this acquiescence be voluntary or compulsory. As be- 
tween the parties, it may be implied from the act of 
the individual himself, or from circumstances, which, 
without consulting him, have imposed a duty upon 
him, to which others have a right to presume his con- 
sent. 

He who for safety takes up his residence within the 
walls of a town, built for the protection of a society, 
inhabiting it, may be considered as consenting to be 
governed by the laws of that society. Here his assent 
is proved by his own voluntary act. 

The other sort of implied consent is not easily de- 
duced' by argument. But it needs little to be said in 
its favour, as the common sense, and common usage of 
all mankind recognise it. Of this sort is the consent 
of a child, to the authority of its parents, during his 
minority, and his consent to those duties growing out 
of the filial relation which accompany him to the grave. 
The hittory of the patriarchal ages shows us, that, in 
the absence of other governments, the obligation arising 
from this relation was recognised as continuing un- 
changed through life. We find it acknowledged, even 
to a late period, by the laws of the Romans; and I am 
not sure, that that is not a refinement of modern and 
artificial society on the simple maxims of natural so- 
ciety, which, at any time, postpones the duties of the 
son, to those of the citizen. So we feel it to be; and 
the hearts of all men unhesitatingly give their sym- 
pathy and applause to the son, who, at every hazard, 
screens his father's life when threatened by the laws of 
his country. Why is this, but that we feel that he 

* Vattel, Prelim. S. 18. 



71 

owes a duty to his father, of which, by his own act, he 
could not divest himself? If, then, the duty which he 
so strongly feels, and which all so frankly acknow- 
ledge, is imposed on him by his birth, nature, and edu- 
cation, (in all of which he was but passive and uncon- 
sulted,) if this duty be so plain and so imperious, may 
we not fairly presume his consent to it ? 

Of the like nature is the presumed consent of every 
man to the laws of the society into which he was born; 
which has given its aid to his parents in his nurture 
and education; of whose institutions he has enjoyed 
the protection and the improving influence; and which, 
in some sort, stands toward him in loco parentis. You 
all feel, and will acknowledge, that you have confuted 
to this. But, as jet, you have never been consulted, 
and in the numerous laws enacted since you came into 
the world, you have had no voice. Yet I am persuaded 
that there is not one of you, who does not feel that he 
who should doubt his cheerful and hearty consent to be 
regarded as a member, and to abide the laws and for- 
tunes of this fostering society, would do him great in- 
justice. 

It is in this broad and comprehensive sense that I 
have used the word "consent." It may be a strained 
sense. But as this is not a philological, but a political 
lecture, I may take the liberty so to use it. If the lan- 
guage does not afford words to express our meaning 
precisely, we must coin new ones, or adopt those al- 
ready in use, in a new and conventional sense. In 
such \ sense I beg to be understood, whenever I speak 
of the consent of individuals to the laws of society. 

Being thus guarded against misconstruction, I repeat, 
that in a state of nature, each man must possess the 
right of self-government, and that on this right no limi- 
tation can be rightfully imposed, but by his consent. 
But along with this right is the right of self-redress, 
the right to seek and obtain reparation for wrong, and 
security against its repetition. Now the subject of this 
right is the natural individual man, who has done the 
wrong, and such a right is plainly not liable to be im- 
paired, or in any wise modified, by any act of the ag- 



72 

gressor himself. The members of each society are 
supposed to agree among themselves to forego the exer- 
cise of this right against each other, and to take in lieu 
of the direct responsibility of man to man, the acknow- 
ledged responsibility of the offender to society, and the 
acknowledged duty of the society to enforce ample jus- 
tice to the injured member. 

But all this is plainly conventional, and binds none 
but the parties. Now suppose the party injured to be 
a member of another society, which has seized upon 
the individual by whom he has been wronged. They 
know him only as a natural man, and as such they pro- 
ceed to punish him. By what right shall he defend 
himself from punishment, by telling them of a bargain 
he has made with somebody else, to which they are not 
parties, and which they have never agreed to respect? 
Such might be the plea of a robber. The answer would 
be: "your associates may be such as yourself. We know 
them not. We know not that they have the power or the 
will to enforce respect on the part of their members for 
the rights of others. We have therefore never acknow- 
ledged them as a body politic. We have never agreed to 
exchange the responsibility of the natural man of that 
society each for himself, and his own acts for the col- 
lective responsibility of the whole. We do not know 
that that society could or would do its duty as a mem- 
ber of the commonwealth of nations, and shall not 
recognise them as such until properly satisfied on these 
points. Until then, we shall treat any one of them who 
injures us, as an outlaw, amenable to our authority, be- 
cause not amenable to that of any society on which we 
can rely, to coerce him to his duties, and to make repa- 
ration for injuries done by him." 

Now if it be true, that the right to redress his own 
wrongs is the natural right of the natural man; and if 
it be also true, that this right cannot be taken away by 
the act of the wrong-doer himself, without the concur- 
rence of the injured party, nothing can be objected to 
the truth and conclusiveness of this reasoning. It 
results from this, that, not only is it necessary to the 
existence of a body politic, that her people should hold 



73 

themselves bound by her laws, but also that no state 
can properly fulfil her functions as a member of the 
commonwealth of nations, and do her duty to her own 
citizens, unless her claim to the character of a body 
politic be allowed by other powers. Without this, her 
people, responsible both at home and abroad, might be 
put to the hard alternative of being punished by her for 
disobedience to her commands, or being punished by 
others for obeying them. The consideration of obe- 
dience to domestic authority fails, unless protection 
from foreign responsibility is afforded. On the other 
hand, the claim of other powers to hold the individual 
individually responsible, should not be relinquished, 
until it is manifest that domestic responsibility is fully 
established, and will be duly enforced on behalf of 
foreigners. 

But this is all that foreign nations have a right to re- 
quire. On the other hand, the right of men to asso- 
ciate themselves in bodies politic is so important; so- 
ciety is so necessary to man, and government is so 
necessary to society, that more than this cannot pro- 
perly be required. Moreover, experience has shown, 
that where the authority of the body politic is fully 
established, and faithfully exerted to enforce a respect 
to the rights of strangers, the collective responsibility 
of the whole is more safe, more practicable, and less 
likely to be attended with unpleasant consequences, 
than that of individuals. Hence it is a received maxim 
among nations, that any people who manifest the dispo- 
sition and the power to punish crimes and redress inju- 
ries committed by their citizens against foreigners, has 
a right to be welcomed to the commonwealth of nations. 

These remarks may suffice to show, that jurists do 
not promulgate an arbitrary dogma, nor use a vain un- 
meaning form of words, when they say, that sovereign 
states, and none else, are members of that common- 
wealth. It is this right to command, to be obeyed, and 
to protect; the right to hold the individual responsible 
to the community, and to interpose the collective re- 
sponsibility of the community between him and any 
7 



74 

foreign complainant, — this it is which constitutes sove- 
reignty. 

It is manifest, that, in this view, it is of no conse- 
quence how this state of things comes into existence. 
A set of loose individuals, collected by chance from 
every quarter of the globe, may establish themselves in 
any territory, whether by occupancy or conquest, and 
thus become a body politic. Any portion of an old 
community may be set apart and given up to self-go- 
vernment, and thus formed into a body politic. In 
short, whenever this right to command, to be obeyed, 
and to protect, is fully established, whether in a No- 
madic tribe, who have no idea of sovereignty but over 
persons, or in a fixed community whose notions of 
sovereignty are local, and limited by certain bounda- 
ries — whether these rights have existed from the foun- 
dation of the world, or were claimed and recognised 
but yesterday — whether they result from the indepen- 
dent action of men, until then strangers to control, or 
from the assent of a state of which they once formed 
but an integral part, in each and every of these cases, 
wherever these rights exist, there is a body politic, and 
there is sovereignty. 

Here again, gentlemen, I may have seemed to you 
to have dwelt too long on a topic of little practical 
value at this day. Let me then make a practical ap- 
plication of what I have said which may convince you 
of the importance of those ideas to ourselves. With 
this view, I propose to consider what effect on this 
sovereignty may be produced by supervenient circum- 
stances. I allude to those cases in which the sove- 
reignty of a state is in some measure obscured by its 
relations to other states, although it remains unimpair- 
ed, and that other class of cases in which it is totally 
extinguished. 

To discriminate between these, we should bear in 
mind, that every body politic is endued with that sort 
of artificial individuality, which constitutes it, in the 
language of political science, "a moral person." Now 
we must remember that this moral personality results 
from the unquestioned authority of the body over its 



75 

members and its consequent responsibility for their 
acts. A chance assemblage of loose individuals is no 
such moral person, because the whole have no authority 
over the parts, and are not responsible for them. Not 
so with a society united by obligations which bind each 
to the whole, and creates an authority, with which the 
rest of the world agree not to interfere, to regulate and 
control the acts of each. 

Now, as this moral personality depends on this rela- 
tion of the whole to the parts, it follows, that while the 
latter continues, the former will remain. Hence it is 
held, that it is not necessarily impaired by feudal sub- 
ordination, if, while the feudatory is subject to his 
suzerain, his subordinates are responsible to him and 
he for them. So in the case of treaties of unequal alli- 
ance, of tribute, or of protection; it is only to this 
collective moral person, that the other party looks for 
the fulfilment of the treaty, and it is only by acting 
on him, that he can enforce it. 

The same considerations apply to states having a 
common head. Before the union of England and Ire- 
land, they stood in this relation. The English parlia- 
ment, with the consent of their king, enacted laws 
under which their people lived, and enforced them by 
their own sanctions. In these matters the people of 
Ireland were not consulted. In like manner, the people 
of Ireland, without consulting the people of England, 
enacted laws for the government of their people, with 
the consent of their king. This king being also king 
of England, and his assent being necessary to all laws 
in either country, it was of course, that, as king of 
Ireland, he would never assent to laws offensive to him 
as king of England, and vice versa. This effectually 
prevented any collisions between the sovereignties of 
the two countries, but took nothing from the distinct- 
ness and completeness of either. Yet such was the 
effect of this kingly identity, and such were the circum- 
stances of the two countries, that a careless observer 
might easily have lost sight of the* distinct and inde- 

* It was quite easy for foreign states to lose sight of the dis- 



76 

pendent sovereignty of Ireland. But in a recent case 
no such mistake was ever made. Until the death of 
William IV., the king of England and the king of 
Hanover were the same man. Yet the government of 
Hanover was, in practice, as well as theory, as inde- 
pendent of that of England as if under the dominion 
of a different but friendly prince. 

The only case which remains to be considered, is one 
of deep interest to us. I mean the case of a confede- 
racy of states. To prepare for a right understanding 
of this, let us, for a moment, advert to the change in 
the relation between England and Ireland, made by 
what is called the Union. Before that time each had 
its own legislature, the king himself acting for each 
country as king of that country only, and not at all as 
king of the other. Each had its own distinct and per- 
fect government, by the functionaries of which its au- 
thority was personated alike in the regulation of foreign 
or domestic affairs. The king of Ireland, as such, 
might have made a treaty, by which England would not 
have" been bound, and the king of England had the 
same power to bind that kingdom, without imposing 
any obligation on Ireland. 

Now the effect of the union was to abolish these 
several legislatures, and to substitute therefor a single 
legislature, having equal authority over both islands. 
The king no longer retained the separate characters of 
king of England and king of Ireland, but became the 
king of an united kingdom. 

In this state of things, not only has each country 
lost the capacity to legislate for itself independently, 
and without any control from the other, but, in point 
of fact, there is no public authority by which the sepa- 
rate moral personality of either is represented. The 
moral person once known as the kingdom of England 
can now be nowhere found. The same is true of Ire- 

tinct political existence of the two kingdoms. The treaty- 
making power in each, was in the king alone, and as his treaties 
made the same stipulations for both countries, the result to others 
was the same as if they had been united. But he might have 
made one treaty for England and another for Ireland. 



77 

land. It is not only not admissible, but it is not possi- 
ble to carry on a separate negotiation with either alone. 

Now such an union as this infers a total abrogation 
of the separate sovereignty of each country. Each 
people has voluntarily divested itself of all means of 
expressing its separate will, and hence the separate 
sovereignties can no longer be said to exist. The Irish- 
man is no longer subject to the authority of a kingdom 
of Ireland, nor is there any such kingdom to be re- 
sponsible for him. The same is true of the English- 
man. The authority and responsibility, in both cases, 
attach to the joint sovereignty of the new state formed 
out of the two old ones. The union of the two is such 
as to have effected a complete consolidation, forming a 
single nation, a single body politic, out of what once 
were two. 

Here we see a case, in which, by the union of two 
sovereignties, the separate sovereignty of each is lost, 
and here we see the reason of this consequence. Now 
apply this reason to the case of two or more states 
forming a confederacy, in which each retains its dis- 
tinct political individuality, its separate machinery of 
government, its power to command and enforce the 
obedience of its people, and, in short, every thing 
which constitutes a separate moral personality. Here, 
I apprehend, there is no loss of nationality, but that 
each state remains within itself a complete body po- 
litic. 

It remains to consider how far this sovereign charac- 
ter is impaired by an agreement not to exercise certain 
functions of sovereignty. I conceive not at all, if such 
agreement leave the state in possession of a public au- 
thority by which her will may be expressed, and of all 
the political machinery necessary to coerce the obe- 
dience of her people to that will. While this remains, 
ail infractions of the agreement will be the act of the 
moral person, and not of the individual agent of her 
will; and it is impossible to imagine an infraction of 
it without presenting the idea of the sovereignty, by 
which it is broken. There is no other by whom it can 
be broken; there is no other by whom it can be ful- 



78 

filled; there is no other by whom an appeal for redress 
can be made; there is no other source from which repa- 
ration for the wrong can proceed. 

But suppose pacific remedies to be provided for all 
but extreme cases, and tribunals appointed for coercing 
in individuals a respect for the compact, so far as it is 
liable to be violated by individuals. Even in this case, 
I see no loss of sovereignty, so long as these tribunals 
derive their powers from the sole or concurrent act of 
that sovereignty. Some persons have proposed that the 
powers of Christendom should establish among them- 
selves, and, by their joint authority, an international 
code of laws, and a court of prize and piracy. But 
certainly no man ever dreamed that the authority of 
such laws and such court over tt\e property and per- 
sons of individuals, would at all impair the sovereignty 
of the several nations. 

This matter may be brought home to ourselves by an 
example familiar, but much misunderstood. The body 
politic, which we know by the name of the Common- 
wealth of Virginia, acting in a general convention in 
the year 1776, ordained, among other .things, that her 
people should be governed by laws enacted by her own 
separate legislature, and by no other, and tried by 
judges appointed thereby, and by no other. The same 
commonwealth, afterwards, in 1788, acting in the same 
character and the same forms, recalled a part of the 
power before conferred on her own legislature and 
judges, and conferred on functionaries to be appointed 
on behalf of that commonwealth, and twelve others, a 
power to legislate and judge in certain specific and de- 
fined cases. Now whence do these legislators derive 
their authority to bind by their laws a citizen of Vir- 
ginia? Whence do these judges derive their authority 
to sit in judgment on a citizen of Virginia? By whose 
command are we bound to obey the laws, and to re- 
spect the functionaries of the United States? The 
answer to these questions will be found in the answer 
to this other question. Was it from the action of any 
or all of the other states, that the Constitution of the 
United States derived its binding force on Virginians ? 



79 

No. It was so admitted at the time, and when all the 
other states had adopted it, the people of North Caro- 
lina, during an interval of two years, remained free 
from any obligation to that Constitution. When she 
adopted it; when she commanded her people to respect 
it, then they were bound, and not before. The same 
is true of all the rest. It follows that when we give our 
obedience to the laws, and our respect to the functiona- 
ries of the United States, we do so because Virginia 
has commanded it. In the very act of this obedience 
we acknowledge her sovereignty, and so long as she 
retains her distinct political personality, and her right to 
make and execute her own laws, so long she will be in 
condition to receive the homage and allegiance which 
she claims from her people, by the very act by which 
it is sometimes pretended to have been surrendered. 

It is not merely to vindicate what I have said of the 
nature of bodies politic from the charge of abstraction 
that I have called your attention to this case. I desire 
to impress it on your minds, and shall, elsewhere, speak 
of it much more fully. 

You are all members of an ancient and illustrious 
commonwealth, whose laws it may be your office to 
enact and administer, as well as to obey. There is 
nothing so important to you in the study of political 
science, as to understand perfectly the nature of that 
commonwealth, and of the ties which bind her to her 
sister states. I would not even let this occasion pass, 
without saying, what you cannot hear too soon or too 
often, nor think on too deeply — Virginia is your coun- 
try, and the country of your fathers. To her your 
allegiance is due. Her alone you are bound to obey. 
Should they who speak in her name, command you to 
disregard the Constitution of the United States, which 
she has charged you to respect, they misrepresent 
her; and by refusing your obedience to any unconsti- 
tutional enactment of her legislators, you obey her in 
disobeying them. Give her all your allegiance, all your 
devotion, all your veneration and love, and you will 
give the best pledge of your fidelity to the Constitution 



80 

of the United States, which she has commanded you to 
respect, and which you are bound to respect, only be- 
cause she has commanded it. . 



LECTURE V. 

So far, gentlemen, we have been engaged in the 
study of things that have been. Such investigations 
are curious, and may be amusing, but it is not at once 
apparent that they have any connection with the things 
that are. To trace out this connection, and to detect in 
these simple. associations which I have described, the 
germs and causes of all those various governments 
with which we are familiar, is the task to which I now 
proceed. 

If there be any truth in the ideas I have already 
presented to you, it would seem to follow, that society, 
in its infancy, and just about to invest itself, for the 
first time, with the armor of government, could hardly 
be expected to take any form but the monarchical, or 
the democratic. For my own part, I am at a loss to see 
how, in such a state of things, any circumstances could 
exist which could give rise to an aristocracy. I offer 
this remark with diffidence, because I am aware that most 
writers consider the three forms of monarchy, aristocracy 
and democracy as alike simple, and alike primitive. Yet 
I look in vain for any thing to make me doubt its cor- 
rectness. I see no motive which could actuate men, 
first made sensible by experience, of the want of some- 
thing like government, for the preservation of peace, to 
establish among themselves a divided authority, which 
in its exercise, would so often become a source of con- 
tention. I have already said, that should the members 
of an infant society differ among themselves as to the 
choice of a ruler, the remedy would be to form two or 
more societies, instead of one, each living under the 
ruler of its own unanimous choice. Reason shows me 
that this should be so. History affords some proof that 



81 ' 

it was so at first, and my own observation has made it 
manifest that it is so at this day. 

What then is the origin of aristocracy, and whence 
came it to be one of the elements in the constitution of 
any government ? 

Before we enter on this question, it is necessary to 
acquire distinct and accurate ideas of what we mean by 
this word aristocracy. 

Nature and circumstances make a difference among 
men, whether in society or out of it. There are 
diversities of natural and acquired endowments, of 
strength and courage, and intelligence, and prudence, of 
industry, steadiness and sobriety, and these make dif- 
ferences in acquisitions, and in the estimation of man- 
kind. Under any form of government which affords 
equal security to all the rights of all men, these acquisi- 
tions will occasionally be seen to accumulate in the 
hands of some, to an amount which may make them ob- 
jects of envy. The domestic habits of wealth and 
poverty are so essentially different, that social inter- 
course between the two will afford little pleasure to 
either party, and will be soon interrupted and dis- 
continued. The wise man can take no delight in the 
company of the fool, and can afford- him but little. 
Society thus, without the agency of government, 
divides itself into classes, and these are distinguished 
by circumstances which may well engender contempt 
on the one hand, and envy and hatred on the other. 

But this division does not constitute an aristocracy, 
for it implies no exclusive privileges in the higher 
classes; no political authority in either wealth or wis- 
dom, but leaves the possessor of both to stand as a 
unit in the general estimate of the common will. He 
may indeed possess an influence over others, but this 
will only be, because the blind submit to be led by those 
who can see, or the poor are base enough to sell their 
voices to the rich. But this, so far from being the 
result of any conventional distinction in favour of the 
higher classes, does in fact proceed directly from the 
democratic principle, which places power in the hands 
of men subject to such influences, and disposed to court 



82 

them. Where there is no constitutional guarantee of 
exclusive privileges to any class, there is no aristocracy, 
though even there, some of the worst effects of aristocracy 
may be experienced. It may seem paradoxical, but, in. 
truth, these effects are only to be avoided by a slight 
infusion of aristocracy itself. If you are unwilling 
that the wealth of the opulent nabob shall enable him 
to sway the suffrage of others, your remedy is to take 
away the suffrage of him whose poverty exposes him to 
be so influenced. But if you propose this you are sure 
to encounter opposition from both the parties to this 
corrupt traffic. The poor man will not readily consent 
to part with a prerogative which gives him an interest 
in the purse, and a title to the respect of his wealthy 
neighbour, and the latter will hesitate long, before he 
agrees to disqualify his humble and useful dependent 
to be any longer the efficient instrument of his designs. 

This remark is somewhat premature in this place. 
But I offer it here, because, in this connexion, its truth 
and justice are obvious. Yet I advise you to consider 
it Well, and see if there be any fallacy in it; for I 
forewarn you, that I shall hereafter use it to establish 
a conclusion, in which I apprehend you may not ac- 
quiesce without reluctance. 

Let me now revert to what I had just before said, 
4c that although many of the worst evils of aristocracy 
may exist, where there is no privileged class, yet the 
true idea of aristocracy, is that of an order of men 
invested by constitutional enactments with political 
power, and privileges peculiar and exclusive." As 
examples of this we may take the Roman senate, a 
self-existent body, possessing at first nearly all the 
power of the state. In modern times we see the senate of 
Venice ruling with absolute sway in that republic; and, 
in England, we have a house of peers, exercising in their 
own right, and by no delegation whatever, an authority 
under the constitution more than equal to that of the 
assembled representatives of the whole people. These 
are examples which show the meaning of the word 
aristocracy. What we learn from them corresponds 
exactly with the idea which the etymology of the word 



83 

expresses; viz: "A power in the state wielded by a 
privileged class." 

The rich man's influence is no such privilege. He 
derives it, not from the constitution, but from the in- 
dustry, enterprise and sagacity which have made him 
rich. By sloth, extravagance and folly he may lose it, 
the constitution remaining unchanged. The particular 
nature of his wealth, by connecting him with interests 
either prevalent or depressed, may vary the amount of 
his influence. As a land-holder, he may have but little. 
The same amount of capital, invested in manufactures, 
may give him the command of five hundred votes. 

The man of talent may have influence, and if he 
tasks his talents to pamper the passions and flatter the 
prejudices of the multitude, he may have a great deal. 
A deeper wisdom, which might make him sensible of 
the danger of this, and prompt him to speak unpalatable 
truths, may annihilate it altogether. A sagacity yet 
more profound might teach him, that they who desire to 
influence mankind for their own good, must be content 
to concede something to their prejudices; that passion 
must be indulged with leave to vent itself in some degree, 
before it will listen to the voice of reason; that he who 
would lead must sometimes seem to follow, as he who 
would catch a falling weight, must give way to the first 
shock. Thus instructed in that practical wisdom which 
"makes the mind of the possessor the mind of other 
men," he may resume his influence. With all this 
the constitution has nothing to do. Its political cha- 
racter remains the same under all the mutations of so- 
ciety, and there may be no more aristocracy where the 
circumstances and characters of men differ as widely 
as possible, than there would be in the impossible case, 
where all were equally wise and equally rich. 

I make these remarks, because we are in the constant 
habit of hearing of the aristocracy of wealth and talent, 
and are apt to permit ourselves to believe in the exist- 
ence of things of which we hear habitually. Children 
thus grow up in the belief of ghosts and witches, and 
fairies, without ever having received one word of proof 
of their existence. Before we part, gentlemen, I hope 



84 ' 

to convince you, that even these superstitions are not 
more absurd, nor more dangerous to the healthy condi- 
tion of your minds, and your happiness in life, than the 
belief in the existence, among ourselves, of any thing 
like aristocracy. 

Having given this explanation of the word, I proceed 
to enquire. i' 

1. To what circumstances it owed its existence as a 
political element in the constitution of any state, an- 
cient or modern. 

2. Whether any causes can establish it in that cha- 
racter, among ourselves, or in any government where 
it does not now exist. 

You will perceive, gentlemen, that in pronouncing 
monarchy and democracy to be the only two primitive 
forms of* government, I lay myself under the necessity 
of deducing from these, not only aristocracy, but all 
the infinite varieties and modifications of government, 
which the world has ever seen. Of the practicability 
of K this, I have no doubt. Results so various, from the 
combinations of simple causes, arein perfect harmony 
with all the operations of nature. By some philoso- 
phers, all the moral varieties of the human character 
are referred to modifications of one principle. None, 
I believe, suppose the existence of more than two. The 
curious research of the crystallographer, detects but 
some half a dozen primitive forms in nature. Yet to 
these forms, and the seven primitive rays, we must 
trace all the infinite varieties of beauty and deformity 
in inorganic matter. Analogous to this, is the growth 
of aristocratic and other governments formed by a simi- 
lar process in the moral and political world. 

You will remember, that it is only of man in his 
rudest state; it is only of Nomadic tribes, that I pre- 
dicate the simple form of a government, whose few and 
restricted powers are wielded by a single hand. So 
long as man continues in this state, so long will such a 
government be adequate to all the wants of society, 
and so long will there be nothing in that form to offend 
the pride or alarm the fears of the fierce and untamed 
inhabitant of the forest. That a change in his condi- 



85 

tion and mode of life, might induce a risk to change 
the structure of his government, is sure. Whether he 
would succeed in accomplishing that wish, or whether 
the attempt to do so would eventuate in the establish- 
ment of a sterner authority, would depend on circum- 
stances. It is curious to trace the operation of these 
in some of the remains exhumed by historical research 
from beneath the ruins of successive governments, which, 
in turn, have been established and overthrown in those 
regions of whose early history we know most. 

Recent political events have established an obscure 
German prince on a throne erected on these ruins. His 
kingdom owes its existence and preservation to the pro- 
tecting care of the more powerful nations of the north. 
Yet this petty kingdom, thus held, for its own good, in 
a state of subordination and pupilage, embraces within 
its limits all those Grecian states, whose internal affairs 
and mutual strifes, furnish the material of the most 
brilliant, interesting and instructive portion of ancient 
history. That which is now a speck upon the map of 
Europe, was then a microcism of rival states. That, 
which, entire, is hardly thought of dignity enough to be 
recognised as a member of the commonwealth of na- 
tions, then consisted of parts distinct and independent, 
forming a commonwealth of nations among themselves. 
Such was the condition of Greece more than two thou- 
sand years ago, and long since the commencement of 
the era of authentic history. But if we penetrate a few 
centuries farther back, we shall have no reason to doubt 
that even these petty sovereignties were themselves but 
agglomerations of yet smaller states. Thus we learn, 
that, in the time of Theseus, the narrow and barren 
territory of Attica embraced a confederacy of twelve 
states, which, from the nature of the thing, at a yet 
earlier period, had probably constituted so many inde- 
pendent societies and governments. What could have 
been their number? Reflect, for a moment, on the de- 
structive wars which would rage among them, and you 
will see that they must have been very few. -Yet their 
situation, pent up in that narrow peninsula, plainly 
shows that' they had long before emerged from the hunter 
8 



S6- 

state; that they must have passed through the shepherd 
state, and had already arrived at that stage of society 
which affords the incentives and opportunities of per- 
sonal aggrandizement, and of foreign conquest. Yet 
in all the preceding ages of the world, in all the inter- 
course and collision of man with man, which had finally • 
driven them to lay aside the bow and the crook, and to 
betake themselves to the plough for subsistence, no 
association would seem to have been formed among them 
embracing a territory more extensive, or inhabitants 
more numerous than those of one of our smallest coun- 
ties. 

This remark is not made at random. The narrow 
neck of land, which, below this place, divides the rivers ' 
York and James is of nearly the same extent as the whole 
of Attica, and you will see at once that were that dis- 
trict divided into twelve confederated states, the little 
county of Warwick would be a sort of empire state in 
such a confederacy. 

Having thus detected the atomic parts which entered 
into the constitution of that particular state, of whose 
early history we know most, the question comes back 
upon us, "what were the forms of government under 
which they lived ?" Of this we can only judge by in- 
ference; In the infancy of government, we have seen 
it taking the monarchical form. Reason will tell us, that 
society must have passed through the two first stages 
before any prevailing inducements'to change that form 
could be expected to present themselves. How long 
men wouid live together in fixed habitations, before the 
temptation to abuse the facilities which power affords 
for the accumulation of property, would stimulate to 
usurpation or provoke to revolt, would depend on cir- 
cumstances. These we have no means of knowing. 
All that can be said is this: that the earliest intsance 
on record of a transition from monarchy to any more 
popular form was in the time of Codrus, and long sub- 
sequent to that of Theseus. 

The nature of the revolution which then took place, 
shows that, by some means, in the progress of society 
u,p to that point, an aristocracy had been generated, 



87 

and established on principles which enabled them, 
quietly and without a struggle, to build up their au- 
thority on the ruins of the throne. What were those 
means? To discover them, we must go back a little. 
The remote tradition which represents Attica as having 
been divided among twelve different bands, ascribes the 
settlement of each of these to Cecrops, who, establish- 
ing himself at Athens, at the same time made this dis- 
tribution of his people in the rest of Attica. But the 
same tradition represents Cecrops as a new-comer, who, 
either by conquest or the consent of the aborigines, in- ' 
troduced a foreign people into the country. Such a set- 
tlement, however made, is itself a cause of aristocracy. 
If we suppose the colonists to "have acquired posses- 
sion of the government, not so much by force of arms, 
as by the influence of superior arts, they would still 
establish servitude for the multitude, though not by so 
harsh a name. The laws they would frame for an un- 
cultivated and wretched population would distinguish 
between the colonizers and the aboriginals. Yet the 
laws for the aboriginal population might still be an im- 
provement on their savage and unregulated state, and 
generations might pass away before they would attain 
a character of severity."* 

"But if we suppose a certain tribe to overrun a coun- 
try — to conquer and possess it; new settlers are almost 
sure to be less numerous than the inhabitants they sub- 
due; in proportion as they are less powerful in number, 
they are likely to be more severe in authority — they will 
take away the arms of the vanquished — suppress the 
right of meetings — make stern and terrible examples 
against insurgents, — and, in a word, quell, by the moral 
constraints of law, those whom it would be difficult to 
reduce by physical force, when once organized and in 
actual insurrection. In times half civilized, and even 
comparatively enlightened, conquerors have little re- 
spect for the conquered, and an insurmountable dis- 
tinction is at once made between the natives and their 
new masters. All ancient nations seem to have thought 

*Bulwer, p. 60. 



ss 

that the right of conquest gave a right to the lands of 
the conquered country. William, dividing England 
among his Normans, is but an imitator of every suc- 
cessful invader of ancient times. The new-comers, 
having gained the land of a subdued people, that peo- 
ple, in order to subsist, must become the serfs of the 
land. The more formidable warriors are either slain 
or exiled, or conciliated by some allotment of authority 
and possessions. The multitudes remain the cultivators 
of the soil, and it depends on the will of the conqueror 
whether they shall cultivate it as slaves, or as a free but 
subordinate class."* 

Thus it appears, that, whether a territory be subdued 
by a tribe of warriors, or brought under the dominion 
of Colonizers by the milder arts of peace, an aristocracy 
of some sort is the consequence. The latter, superior 
in civilization to the natives, and regarded by them with 
reverence and awe, become at once a privileged order. 
The former, sharing the soil with their chief, each be- 
comes the lord of lands and slaves, and each has privileges 
above the herd of the conquered population. In either 
case, an aristocracy, hereditary and permanent, is esta- 
blished, though in the former it will be more unequivo- 
cal and oppressive in its character. And this it will be, 
in proportion as the inferior number of the victors may 
render severity and rigour more necessary to safety. 
To a difference in this respect has been ascribed the 
difference between the abject subjection of the original 
inhabitants of Sparta to their Dorian conquerors, and 
the milder, and scarcely perceptible rule of the aristo- 
cracy in Attica. The first was a conquest achieved by 
a few hardy adventurers- — the second by a new people 
overwhelming with numbers the ancient inhabitants of 
the country.! 

In the advent of Cecrops, then, and his companions, 
we find a sufficient source of aristocratic power, even 
supposing all the twelve tribes established in Attica 
about that time to have been subject to his authority. 
But it is hard to conceive a motive to such a distribu- 

* Bulwer, p. 59. t lb. 61. 



89 

tion of power in that age of the world; and, if we re- 
member that the very existence of Cecrops himself is 
apocryphal, we may feel ourselves free to doubt whether 
those tribes were any more than distinct bands of inde- 
pendent, but kindred adventurers. All that can be 
known with certainty is, that some such invasion ac- 
tually took place, but more probably under separate 
leaders, like the founders of the Saxon heptarchy, each 
acting for himself, but each glad to co-operate with his 
brethren against the common enemy. Hence the league, 
which, under the influence of the commanding personal 
qualities of Theseus, ended in consolidation. How far 
this change may have been effected by means having a 
tendency to establish in aristocratic principles the in- 
habitants of that particular district, which finally ob- 
tained the supremacy, we have no means of knowing. 
Thus much at least we do know, that when afterwards 
the constitution of Athens became more democratic, we 
hear nothing of the political privileges of the inhabit- 
ants of Attica. We know of no such body politic as 
the people of Attica. The "Men of Athens" seem to 
have, even then, constituted the AH/moe, to which all the 
political power of the people belonged, and Athens ap- 
pears to have been to Attica what Rome was to Latium, 
and afterwards to Italy, an imperial city, a "common- 
wealth of kings." 

I have confined my remarks to the invasion of Cercops 
and his associates. I have said nothing of a subsequent 
event of the same kind, which established a new race 
over the heads of the first conquerors. One instance of 
the sort is enough for my purpose, and the example 
illustrates all that I have said of the origin and early 
progress of society and government. It has been well 
remarked, that "the history of that period is the history 
of the human race, — it was the gradual passage of men 
from a barbarous state to the dawn of civilization."* 

If, then, it be affirmed by any one that aristocracy is 
one of the primitive forms of government, and the little 
states of Greece, all of which were more or less aris- 

♦ Bulwer p. 66. 
8* 



90 

tocratic, are instanced in proof of this assertion, I an- 
swer by referring to this analysis, and showing, that 
these states, small as they were, were but agglomera- 
tions of yet smaller communities incorporated together 
by conquest. But there is a more important conclu- 
sion to be deduced from this analysis. I have said that 
to suppose an aristocracy to spring up out of a demo- 
cracy, is to suppose an effect without a cause, and in 
defiance of all known causes. But here again, I ex- 
pect to be answered by instances, and it therefore be- 
hoved me to put these instances out of my way. I have 
done so, by showing that these most ancient aristocra- 
cies have not been of the growth of democracy, but 
have been superinduced by a power from without. More 
modern examples of course prove nothing, excepting 
only the case of our own states, some of which recog- 
nise in their constitutions, peculiar privileges in land- 
holders. But these privileges are not created by the 
constitutions in which they are found. They were 
already in existence, and were but endured for a sea- 
son. Their origin is to be explained by the nature of 
the colonies in which they existed. The charter of Vir- 
ginia may be taken as an example. It was a grant of 
lands to certain adventurers for their own use. To be 
productive they must be settled, and the settlers would 
need a government. The proprietors were therefore 
erected into a body politic, with power of self-govern- 
ment. It was an affair of property, and they who had 
no land in the country, had nothing in»the partnership. 
On what principle should they be allowed a voice in the 
regulation of its concerns ? The company, in itself, was 
democratic, and remained so. That which, to the su- 
perficial observer, seems like the growth of an aristo- 
cracy, was in truth nothing but the introduction of a 
plebs, having no interest in the concern, and therefore 
no authority over its affairs. 

In short, I feel myself fully warranted in saying that 
history nowhere shows an aristocracy growing up, as a 
spontaneous shoot from democracy. It is always en- 
gendered by external causes, and in almost all the in- 
stances of which we have any means of knowledge, may 



91 

be traced to conquest. I can indeed imagine that the 
alarm excited in independent tribes, at the aggrandize- 
ment of an ambitious neighbour, may have led to coa- 
litions, which might end in consolidation. If the mem- 
bers of such confederacy were in themselves monarchi- 
cal, then it might happen, that, in the new body politic 
thus formed, an aristocracy might be established, con- 
sisting of the chiefs of the component parts. But this 
is but a conjecture. I am not aware of any such case. 

Having thus forestalled any objection which may be 
offered on the alleged authority of history, I repeat 
what I have said: "that the growth of an aristocracy, 
springing up m a democracy, would not only be an 
effect without a cause,^but in opposition to all known 
causes.' 1 

No people ever voluntarily and knowingly gave up 
their liberties. They may be robbed of them by force. 
They may be cheated of them by fraud. Nothing is 
more common than an infatuated admiration of the 
powers of some one man, and an accompanying confi- 
dence in his wisdom and virtue, that leads others to 
intrust him informally with the exercise of powers 
which he abuses, to the permanent establishment of 
despotism. In every country, the first successful aspi- 
rant to supreme power, has always been a favourite and 
flatterer of the people. No man ever put himself in 
condition to proclaim his contempt of the multitude, 
but by first affecting the most unbounded deference to 
its will. But, from the nature of the thing, one man 
at a time must be the object of this fond delusion. We 
never become infatuated with man or woman, until we 
can persuade ourselves that there is none other like 
them. Talents which are common to many dazzle 
nobody. Services, (however great,) which may be 
matched by the equal services of others, command but 
little gratitude. Wealth, which is shared by numbers, 
is spent in the rivalry of splendour and ostentation, 
which makes the possessors odious — not distributed in 
largesses to the poor. Flattery, spoken by a hundred 
mouths, ceases to be flattery, and is soon regarded as 
a just but imperfect tribute to acknowledged merit. 



92 

There is no one of the arts of the demagogue which 
the higher classes can practice successfully, and on 
joint account. From the most prevailing of all, that of 
inveighing against the immediate superiors of those 
they would cajole, they are debarred by the fact that, 
if there be an aristocracy, they themselves constitute it. 
But men do not, in truth, practice the arts of the 
demagogue for the benefit of others. He who strives 
to cheat the people, means also to cheat his employer 
or his associates. We do indeed not unfrequently 
hear, from members of the higher classes, eloquent 
declamations against the insolence of wealth, and a 
profusion of cant about the sympathy and respect due 
to virtuous poverty. Do such, things f^our the views 
of the aristocracy as a body? Are they not rather 
proofs that he who utters them means his own advance- 
ment, at the expense of his equals ? Is it not manifest, 
that, not the generous spirit of liberty alone, but that 
envy and jealousy, and all the base and malignant 
passions of man, combine to oppose the aggrandizement 
of any favoured class? Can we expect, that any man, 
actuated by a purpose so sinister as that of the esta- 
blishment of aristocracy on the ruins of liberty, will, 
at the same time, be so magnanimous as to prefer the 
elevation of his order to his own. If he aim at the 
latter, will he not rather use his influence, and exert 
his art and address, and all his powers to disparage the 
imputed insolence, and ostentation, and injustice, and 
oppression of hrs equals in comparison with his own 
humility, and courtesy, and fairness, and liberality? 
"Where an aristocracy, armed with political powers, 
already exists, an aspiring man may think it judicious 
to court that, and, in that case, he may hold a different 
language. But even then he will do this at the price of 
the hatred of all the lower classes. Let him proclaim, 
as his ruling maxim, a determination to stand by his 
order, and he will presently see, that, so far as his fate 
depends on popular feeling, he will be doomed to fall 
with it. In short, can any rational man entertain a 
doubt, that all attempts to establish a particular class 
in peculiar privileges, must be defeated at once by 



93 

jarring and strifes among the members of that class, 
and the unanimous opposition of all the rest? 

I am aware that these ideas are quite at variance with 
the popular slang of the day. But, in the absence of any 
actual danger from the wealthier class of society, what 
does this prove, but the truth of what I have been say- 
ing. Does it not prove the existence of that envious and 
malignant spirit which chafes at the sight of men living 
in the full enjoyment of extraordinary advantages, 
though fairly purchased by industry, frugality, enter- 
prise and. sagacity, and justifies its grudge by imputing 
to them designs of which there is no proof, and a power 
which has no existence ? We hear little of these things 
here in Virginia. But in those quarters from whence 
this clamour proceeds, what indications do we see of 
a political power associated with wealth, which should 
cause alarm to" the friends of freedom ? None. On the 
contrary, we see wealth operating as a political dis- 
franchisement. We see the artisan and mechanic pre- 
ferred to public employment before the man of light and 
learned leisure, merely because he is richj and we even 
see justice itself grudgingly accorded to the rich man, 
for no better reason, than that he can better afford to 
lose a just debt, than his poor neighbour to pay it. 

And here, gentlemen, is the practical application of 
all I have said in this lecture. If we mean to preserve 
our liberties, it must be by wakeful vigilance. We 
must not only be awake, and watch, but we must learn 
where to watch. We watch in vain, if we permit our 
attention to be withdrawn from those quarters from 
whence danger may proceed, and fixed exclusively to 
that whence none can come. Let me show you that I 
am not alone in the ideas that I have advanced. In 
some instances I have already made use of the words 
of an English writer, himself a bitter enemy of the 
aristocracy of his own country, and a most diligent and 
curious investigator of the philosophy of ancient govern- 
ments. To these let me add some remarks taken from 
the most profound and accurate observer on the people 
and constitution. of the United States, that Europe has 
sent among us. I quote from De Toqueville's essay on 



94 

the democracy of America, a work breathing the spirit 
of democracy in every page, (p. 400.) "Some of our 
European politicians," he. says, "expect to see an 
aristocracy arise in America, and they already predict 
the exact period at which it will be able to assume the 
reins of government. I have previously observed, and 
I repeat the assertion, that the present tendency of 
American society appears to me to become more and 
' more democratic. Neverthless I do not assert, that the 
Americans will not, at some future time, restrict the 
circle of political rights in their country, or confiscate 
those rights, to the advantage of a single individual; 
but I cannot imagine that they will ever bestow the ex- 
clusive exercise of them on a privileged class of citi- 
zens* or, in other words, that they will ever found an 
aristocracy. 

"An aristocratic body is composed of a certain num- 
ber of citizens, who, -without being very far removed 
from the mass of the people, are, nevertheless, perma- 
nently stationed above it: a body which it is easy to 
touch, and difficult to strike; with which the people 
are in daily contact, but with which they never can 
combine. Nothing can be imagined more contrary to 
nature, and to the secret propensities of the human 
heart, than a subjection of this kind; and men, who are 
left to follow their own bent, will always prefer the arbi- 
trary power of a king, to the regular administration of an 
aristocracy. Aristocratic institutions cannot exist, with- 
out laying down the inequality of man, as a fundamental 
principle; as a part and parcel of the legislation affect- 
ing the condition of the human family as much as it 
affects that of society; but these are things so repug- 
nant to natural equity, that they can only be extorted 
from men by constraint. 

"I do not think a single people can be quoted, since 
human society began to exist, which has, by its own 
free will, and by its own exertions, created an aristo- 
cracy within its own bosom. All the aristocracies of 
the middle ages, were founded by military conquest: 
the conqueror was the noble, the vanquished became 
the serf, Inequality was then imposed by force, and, 



95 

after it had been introduced into the manners of the 
country, it maintained its own authority, and was sanc- 
tioned by legislation. Communities have existed, which 
were aristocratic, from their earliest origin, owing to 
circumstances anterior to that event, and which became 
more democratic in each succeeding age. Such was 
the destiny of the Romans, and of the Barbarians after 
them. But a people, having taken i{s rise in civiliza- 
tion and democracy, which should gradually establish 
inequality of conditions, until it should arrive at in- 
violable privileges, and exclusive castes, would be a 
novelty in the world; and nothing intimates that Ame- 
rica is likely to furnish so singular an example." 

Backed by an authority so respectable and so clear, 
and by reasoning so cogent, I feel justified and con- 
firmed in all that I have advanced. And I should fall 
short of my duty, gentlemen, if I did not deduce from 
it an important lesson and a solemn warning to you. I 
would have you regard the phantom of aristocracy in 
the United States, of which, like other phantoms all 
have heard, but which no man has seen, as a crea- 
ture of a distempered fancy, not less unreal than the 
images of a sick man's dreams. To those, who, calling 
your attention away from dangers of another sort, would 
alarm you into a jealousy of this, I would advise you 
to turn a deaf ear. They are either incapable of think- 
ing wisely, or they have not thought upon this subject, 
or their thoughts are evil. Beware of them. The very 
materials for an aristocracy have no existence among 
us. Who are they, that, even in the flattering judg- 
ment of their own self-love, have pretensions to be so 
distinguished? Where is that Fabian race? Where 
is that constellation of statesmen and warriors, of the 
wise, the brave, the eloquent, the rich, united like a 
band of brothers for the advancement of their common 
claims? And, if they be found, where is the single 
individual disposed to favour their pretensions? 

There is indeed a danger in the name of aristocracy, 
but none of the thing itself. It is the wizard's word 
to conjure with. It is the demagogue's bugbear to 
frighten the people into his toils. Beware of him, and 



96 

not of it. From the aspiring ambition of a single man, 
from his specious qualities, from his popularity, from 
the sloth, and cowardice, and wantonness, and malice, 
and envyings, and rapacity, and corruption of the peo- 
ple, from these there may be danger. In the thoughtful 
wisdom of those who have leisure to think wisely, and. 
no temptation to think wrong; in the prudent vigilance 
of those who have" more to lose by a convulsion of the 
state, than prince or people can make good, in these is 
your best defence. The demagogue knows this, too, 
and these he therefore stigmatizes as the "Aristocracy 
of Talent and Wealth." 



LECTURE VI. 

The ideas heretofore presented, have led me, by a 
natural process, to the point, at which it becomes pro- 
per to speak of the origin of that government from 
which our own was an offset. Having established the 
principle that aristocracy is the creature of conquest, 
it remains to show that the feudal aristocracy was ex- 
actly such as might be expected to spring from such 
conquests, as those of the northern barbarians over the 
ancient states of Europe. 

Who these barbarians were, and whence they came, 
I have no call to enquire. It would indeed be desira- 
ble, were such a thing, at this day, possible, to trace 
them back to their forests, and ascertain the form of 
civil polity under which they there lived. I am aware 
that an idea is sometimes advanced, that it was the 
same which they established on their settlement in the 
cultivated regions of Europe. But this is but conjee* 
ture, and it is a conjecture not justified by any imagina- 
ble causes for such institutions, among a wild Nomadic 
race. The great fundamental principle of feudality has 
its rise in the occupancy and ownership of the soil, and 
how this could have been recognised among an unsettled 



97 

people is hard to imagine. Indeed the thing is plainly 
impossible. 

Let it be remembered too that the invaders were of 
different races and from different regions, and we shall 
not readily believe that the same form of civil society 
was common to them all. That they all adopted it in 
their new settlements will cause no surprise, when we 
consider, that their condition in these was essentially 
the same, and that the leading characteristics of the 
system were precisely such as that condition would 
naturally suggest. 

We have seen that conquest followed by settlement, 
naturally and necessarily establishes, between the con- 
queror and the conquered, the relation of superior and 
inferior. The precise form of this relation would de- 
pend, in part, on the character of the conquerors. But 
it would also be affected by a variety of other circum- 
stances, and by none more than the state of society 
among the conquered, and their advancement in agri- 
culture and the arts of life. Savages conquered by 
savages could expect nothing but personal servitude in 
its simplest and sternest aspect. Having nothing else 
to render to the conqueror but personal services, they 
would become the hewers of wood and drawers of 
water for their master. 

The fate of an agricultural people submitting to the 
authority of conquerors as yet unskilled in tillage, 
would be essentially different. In no situation could 
they so essentially serve their new lords, as in the pur- 
suit of their former occupations. They would continue 
to cultivate as before, and though the fruits of their toil 
would be consumed by another, their condition would 
be far less degrading, than that of the personal serf, 
condemned to follow the steps of his master, to watch 
his nod, to do his bidding, and tremble at his frown. 
From this abject state the proedial serf would escape to 
the air and the fields, and though the melancholy strain 
which might accompany his toil, 

"Sic vos non vobis fertis aratra boves," 

would have little to cheer his spirit, the very associations 
9 



98 

which would give bitterness to his thoughts, would im- 
part to them a tone of romantic tenderness, under the 
influence of which the heart is never wholly enslaved. 
In this situation the domestic affections may have their 
full play. The budding beauty of the daughter and the 
mature charms of the wife, may lurk beneath the shade, 
secure from the lawless gaze of lordly lust, to which 
the menial female is hourly and helplessly exposed. 
The cultivation of virtue in the offspring of chaste 
parents is an encouraging task, and the education of 
the child, according to the father's scanty means, would 
be left to him alone. The sort of enjoyments of which 
this lot is susceptible are beautifully depicted in Virgils 
first eclogue; and the contrast between the serf "ad- 
scriptus glebce" who felt it a privilege to till for a mas- 
ter the soil which gave him birth, and that of the other 
doomed "Et patriae fines, et dulcia linquere arva," is 
sketched with a truth and tenderness which carry con- 
viction home to the heart. When I tell you that I 
myself have personal knowledge of more than one in- 
stance of slaves returning voluntarily from a land of 
"universal emancipation" to the spot which gave them 
birth, and covered the bones of all their kindred, you 
will believe that in this picture there is no exaggera- 
tion. 

In either of these conditions of the conquered race, 
there might be much to embitter or mitigate their, lot in 
the character of their conquerors. If ferocious and 
sanguinary, their methods of enforcing obedience would 
partake of their character. If cowardly, the precau- 
tions of fear are accompanied with the most unsparing 
cruelty. In the right of self-preservation the dastard 
finds a plea which silences the voice of conscience, and 
stifles the cry of suffering humanity. From men of 
nobler spirit, and yet more from men who had been 
instructed in the mild and benevolent precepts of Chris- 
tianity, something far different might be expected. 

In these considerations we see the reason of the dif- 
ference between slavery as it existed at Sparta, Athens 
and Rome, and the servitude of the, feudal system. 
We see also the cause of the difference between the 



99 

crushing and exterminating character of feudalism, as 
established by the Pagan-Saxon over the Briton, and 
the milder sway exercised some centuries after by the 
Norman Christian over the Saxons themselves. May 
we not here too find the reason why the commonalty of 
England, conquered at a period much later than the 
inhabitants of the continent, themselves indeed de- 
scendants of one branch of the conquering race, were 
never degraded so far as the remnants of the original 
inhabitants of those states which had fallen before the 
sword of the conqueror five hundred years before? 
May not this be the reason, why, in that island, the 
rights of the people were first asserted and first al- 
lowed; and why, to this day, the Saxo-Norman race is 
the guide and instructor of the world in the advance to 
freedom, and in the knowledge of the philosophy of 
government? It is in England that we first hear of a 
middle class. What was the material of this? Most 
probably the Saxon race, with the recently enfranchised 
British or Celtic serf, constituting the rabble below, and 
the conquering Norman, the nobility above. 

It is not my purpose to present to you a detailed 
account, or even a general sketch of the feudal system. 
You will find these in those able works already in your 
hands, whose authors I will not wrong by garbling their 
contents. My business is with one or two of the prin- 
ciples of the system, and with those, only because from 
them I expect to deduce the rise of the lower orders, 
the advance of freedom, and indeed all that has been 
since achieved for the liberty of man. 

The first result of feudal conquest was, that the land 
and the owners of the land became the property of the 
conquerors. The most important object demanding 
their attention was to secure their conquest. The 
means devised for this purpose were appropriate, ob- 
vious, and furnished by the occasion itself. It was 
indispensable that military discipline should be kept 
up, and military subordination maintained. But how- 
ever men of enlarged minds may act on enlarged views, 
that class which is fated to feel the full weight of dis- 
cipline and subordination, is not composed of mate- 



100 

rials which submit to these things without motives of 
personal advantage. Pay must be provided for the 
soldier, and the connection between his claim to pay 
and the fidelity of his service, must be fully esta- 
blished in his mind. 

The device adopted with this view was admirable. 
The leaders agreed among themselves to recognise the 
title of their chief to the whole soil of the conquered 
country, each, at the same time, preferring a claim to a 
large portion, to be conferred as a reward of his ser- 
vices past, and a compensation for those yet to be ren- 
dered by him and his followers. In this way the whole 
island was parcelled out among a few great men, and, 
along with the allotment of land was a like allotment 
of the inhabitants to be employed in cultivation. A 
portion of each adequate to the supply of a competent 
revenue was retained in the immediate possession of the 
king and each of the great barons. The residue was then 
parcelled out in like manner to inferior nobles, by these 
again, by a farther subdivision, to knights, and by these, 
in small allotments to private soldiers. These, in their 
several degrees, drew their subsistence -from the soil 
and labour of the conquered country and its inhabitants, 
their own proper occupation being that of war. Prompt 
and faithful service in the field was the stipulated price 
of all these advantages, and on the performance of that 
service the title of the feudatory was made to depend. 
The common soldier was thus bound to obey every 
summons to the field from the knight, his immediate 
superior; he to the lesser baron, was bound in like 
manner to appear when called, with all his followers; 
and so too was the lesser baron subject to the greater 
baron, and he finally to the king. 

It is hard to conceive a proposition more savouring 
of despotic and arbitrary power, and one more seem- 
ingly fatal to the hopes of freedom, than that which 
designates the monarch as the sole and rightful pro- 
prietor of all the land in the kingdom. I shall more 
than once have occasion to call your attention to the 
difference between what is specious and what is true; 
and how, in the affairs of men, causes are often found 



101 

to work effects exactly the reverse of those to which 
they seem to tend. The hand which draws the bow- 
string is not moved in the direction in which the arrow 
is to fly, and so too it is that in morals the elastic spirit 
of man often reacts against a force which has but pre- 
pared it to display its energy with effect. The opera- 
tion of this fundamental principle of feudalism illus- 
trates this. Every maxim has its correlative. Power 
cannot make such a monopoly of propositions and corol- 
laries, that every annunciation of its rights will not 
awaken in the minds of others some idea of its duties, 
and of their own reciprocal rights. There is no au- 
thority so stern, so harsh, so unreasoning in its require- 
ments, so ruthless and unsparing in its punishments as 
the military authority. The soldier is brought to be- 
lieve that prompt, unhesitating and unquestioning obe- 
dience to the commands of his superior is his duty on 
all occasions; a duty that knows no exceptions; that 
absorbs every other, and even emancipates him from 
all control of conscience and all responsibility to his 
maker. Yet while he acknowledges this duty, he tra*ces 
it to its source, and finds its origin in contract. This 
contract he is taught to recognise as a sacred thing. He 
does so, but he feels, at the same time, that they who 
teach this lesson, must enforce it by example, and show 
that they too have learned it, and respect it. Hence 
it is that the soldier's pay comes to be considered as no 
less sacred than the obedience of which it is the price; 
and hence no rigour of discipline that ever has been 
devised will prevent soldiers from mutinying for their 
pay. In consideration of this, he has consented to the 
surrender of all his other rights, and when this is with- 
held, all the energy with which men defend all that is 
dear to them, is roused and concentred in demanding 
it. It not only represents and embodies in itself the 
right to freedom of action, but the friends he may see 
no more, the home whose dear delights he has re- 
nounced, all come thronging to his imagination, and 
stimulate him to strike for the paltry stipend which at 
the moment perhaps, in the bitterness of his heart, he 
despises. 
9* 



102 

When the feudal chieftain, instead of making distri- 
bution of the conquered territory, on the principle of 
an allotment to each in absolute property, of his due 
portion of the whole, and as the reward of his past ser- 
vices, chose to have it understood to be the price of 
future services also, he endued it with all the qualities 
of the soldier's pay. He meant that it should serve as 
a perpetual memento to the feudatory, of his obligation 
to his superior, and in doing this, he made it a memento 
* of the obligations of the superior to him. The annual 
profits of the soil thus took the character of an annual 
military stipend, and formed the fund which supplied 
the necessaries of life to the soldier and his family. 
The least interruption in the enjoyment of these was 
equivalent to the withholding of the pay of the mer- 
cenary, aggravated by the difference between the open 
invasion, and the mere negation of a right. 

The arbitrary maxim therefore which established the 
king in the factitious character of the sole, absolute and 
allodial proprietor of all the lands in the kingdom, was 
attended with this curious result. According to the 
feudal constitution, as established in England, the king 
seems at first to have been not only a -military chief, 
and the head of the executive branch of the govern- 
ment, but the sole law-giver, and the sole judge. A 
more complete and compendious description of abso- 
lute despotism cannot be conceived. It presents a 
government in which all the rights of every member of 
the community were completely at the mercy of one 
man. Were wholesome laws necessary to protect the 
rights of the subject from the power of the crown, the 
king alone could enact them. Should such securities 
be granted by a just and humane prince, and afterwards 
violated by a successor of a different character, it was 
from that successor alone that redress must be sought 
in his own courts; while the command of the whole 
military force of the kingdom seemed his ready instru- 
ment to enforce all manner of injustice. 

Such was the theory of the constitution, and to this 
theory, in many respects, the practice conformed. One 
only right was protected from this universal domina- 



103 

tion by the spirit of feudalism, and that was the right 
of property. The feudal ceremony of homage no more 
bound the inferior to the services due for his land, than 
it bound the superior to respect his right to it, and to 
protect him in the enjoyment of it. Interesting ex- 
amples of the acknowledged sanctity of this obligation 
abound in the history of the time. When one of the 
earlier kings called on a great baron to show his title to 
certain lands, the latter displayed his sword. "My title," 
said he, "is the same by which the descendants, of Wil- 
liam the Bastard claim the crown of England. They 
cannot impeach mine, without invalidating their own." 
When Edward the Third, a prince in whose hands au- 
thority was as stern and cogent, as in those of any who 
ever swayed a sceptre, thought proper to charge with 
certain conditions a grant of lands which he had already 
made, he was admonished by his legal advisers, that he 
had no right to do so, inasmuch as this would be to 
invade a vested right. Whether satisfied of the rea- 
sonableness of this admonition, or no, he at least felt 
the necessity of acquiescing in it, and he did so. 

The financial system of the feudal kingdoms appro- 
priately illustrates the same principle. From that por- 
tion of the lands of the kingdom which the prince 
retained in his own hands, and which was cultivated 
for his own benefit, he is supposed to have derived the 
means of defraying his personal charges, and of re- 
warding, his immediate personal followers and depen- 
dents. This fund was commonly sufficient for ordinary 
demands of this nature. For certain extraordinary ex- 
penses provision was made in the stipulations of the 
feudal contract itself. Thus on the marriage of his 
eldest daughter, or the knighting f his eldest son, he 
had a right to demand of all his subordinates, in pro- 
portion to their feudal possessions, a certain stated con- 
tribution in money. But here his rights over the pro- 
perty and purses of the people ceased, and, in all other 
cases, however important and urgent their nature, he 
was indebted for his supplies to their free and voluntary 
gifts. The power of war and peace were with him, and 
have so remained to this day, and should he determine 



104 

to go to war, he might lawfully command the personal 
services of every baron, knight and soldier in the king- 
dom. But the means of defraying the expense of his 
military enterprises were not at his command, and he 
was under the necessity therefore of holding in check 
his warlike spirit, until the people, animated by a like 
.spirit, should consent to furnish him the necessary sup- 
plies. 

There may be something in all this that looks like 
paradox. Yet history is full of analogous cases. What, 
for example, is so rigid and stern as military law ? What 
obedience so perfect as that it exacts and secures ? But 
this it owes to the mild authority of municipal law which 
it respects and upholds. Let the chieftain trample upon 
that, and we presently see that his authority over the 
soldiery must be maintained by largesses and license. 
In proportion as he domineers over civil rights is he 
obliged to truckle and make terms with the instruments 
of his domination. "There have always," say Macau- 
lay, "been monarchies in Asia, in which the royal au- 
thority has been tempered by fundamental laws, though 
no legislative body exists to watch over them. The 
guaranty is the opinion of the community where, every 
individual is a soldier. Thus the king of Caubul, as 
Mr. Elphinstone informs us, cannot augment the land 
revenue, or interfere with the jurisdiction of the ordi- 
nary tribunals." It is remarkable that these are the 
very same two things that the feudal sovereign could 
not do. And the reason is the same. "Every man was 
a soldier;" and any exercise of power, touching the 
rights of property, was an invasion of those rights which 
make up the soldier's stipend. 

When we reflect on the military habits of the age, 
and the incessant wars arising out of the unsettled 
condition of recent governments, we shall see in this 
state of things enough to make the king, however ab- 
solute in form, anxious to cultivate the good will, and 
to deserve the favour of those on whom he was thus 
dependent for the means of indulging his ambition, and 
even of defending his throne. This might not lead him 
to do more than to endeavour to conciliate the barons, 



105 

to whom alone he would condescend to look for neces- 
sary aids. But we must remember that they were 
alike dependent on their immediate inferiors, and that 
through them a chain of like dependence ran through 
every intermediate rank down to the lowest members 
of that superior class, which, in the character of con- 
querors, domineered over the subject mass of the con- 
quered. It is curious thus to trace the perfect catena- 
tion of those two long lines, by ona of which the mandate 
of authority was sent down from the highest to the 
lowest, while along the other the voice of petition, ex- 
postulation, or remonstrance came up from the lowest 
to the highest in tones, less authoritative indeed, but 
hardly less prevailing. It will be my business hereafter 
to show you, how by means of this double relation, 
concessions from authority were, from time to time, 
obtained. You will see that, though reluctantly granted, 
they were always granted peaceably, and that in effect- 
ing all the change from the severest feudal despotism 
to the present mixed government of England, no blood 
was shed, no blow was struck, and, with a single ex- 
ception, no sword was drawn in the cause of freedom. 
More of this hereafter. At present I would avail 
myself of the impression, which, I trust, what I have 
been saying has made upon your minds, to enforce the 
remark with which I introduced it. You will remem- 
ber that I said, that I should often have occasion to 
remind you how often causes are found to work effects 
exactly the opposite of those to which they seem to 
tend. I now say to you frankly, that it is only by 
attending to this that I can hope to lead you clear of 
that fatal error which has caused the failure of so many 
experiments on free government. If I am right in this, 
it will follow that the science of government is any 
thing but that simple study which so many among our- 
selves fancy it to be. 1 am sensible that in this remark 
I may but add one more to the many discouragements 
to the hopeful study of political truth with which these 
lectures abound. By a different course I might make 
them more popular, and by none more so, than by 
echoing throughout the vain and delusive declamations 



106 

which you may hear from every demagogue. It is cer- 
tainly not my wish to discourage you. But I am not 
therefore to deal uncandidly with you, and cheat you 
into a hope, that what has heretofore eluded the re- 
searches of the wisest men of all ages and countries, 
will spontaneously disclose itself to our enquiries. I 
have no right to offer you any such fallacious encourage- 
ment. I must content myself with showing you the 
causes of this universal error, and teaching you to avoid 
them. 

That wise and good men have often been engaged in 
the task of devising such form of civil polity, as might 
best secure the freedom and happiness of their respec- 
tive countries, is undeniable. That, to themselves, and 
to others, they have often seemed to succeed, is equally 
certain. But what is the history of the human race, 
but a history of the failure of all these schemes? Our 
own experience — what is it? That of an experiment 
in its first trial. That of an infant government, pro- 
mising indeed, and hopeful, but of which the destiny, 
like that of all which have gone before it, awaits the 
arbitrament of time. That the result may corres- 
pond with our hopes, is an object for which we all should 
labour; and it is, that we may act well our parts for the 
fulfilment of these hopes, that I speak, and invite you 
to hear me calmly and candidly. 

In seeking an explanation of the remarkable fact that 
all the researches of political philosophy have hereto- 
fore ended in practical disappointment, we cannot fail 
to observe that all theorists have proposed to themselves 
the same end, to be accomplished (with a single excep- 
tion) by the same means. These means have been tried, 
and these ends have been seemingly accomplished, and 
the triumph of successful experiment has been re- 
peatedly proclaimed; but yet in every instance, this 
triumph has been followed by ulterior results, which 
leave the condition of man, everywhere, a subject of 
wildering perplexity to the mere theorist, arid of sad 
and solemn reflection to the political philosopher. Has 
the end proposed been undesirable? No. Have the 
means been unwisely chosen ? Who shall presume to 



107 

say so? Yet who can answer otherwise, without re- 
nouncing forever all hopes of freedom and happiness to 
man ? 

What then is the difficulty? Mainly this, as it ap- 
pears to me. That while it is true, as we affirm, "that 
for a people to be free it is sufficient that they will it," 
no lawgiver, but one, has ever addressed himself to the 
task of preserving, in the breasts of the people, the 
same paramount love of freedom, by which the triumphs 
of freedom are always first achieved. For trust me, 
gentlemen, in this same prevailing love of freedom, 
which, in comparison with it, accounts of ease, and 
luxury, and splendour, and even of life itself, are but as 
the small dust of the balance, is its only safeguard. 
"For a people to be free, it is sufficient that they will 
it!" Yes; and it is equally true, that no people can 
be free, who do not, in the same strong sense of the 
word, will to be so. In this, as in that above, which 
is of more importance than freedom, the will is the 
master of our destiny. To that strength of will which 
would "take the kingdom of heaven by violence," the 
gates of heaven itself spontaneously open. But what 
will ? The will that does but prefer eternal happiness 
to eternal misery; or that which unhesitatingly re- 
nounces sin and all its alluring blandishments, and 
accounts of death itself as nothing but the dark portal 
which opens on the realms of light. What will is that 
which wins freedom, or secures the prize when won? 
The will that decides upon the colour of a garment, or 
an article of food; which fixes the choice between two 
horses, or even between a blue eye or a black one in 
woman? Can it be to such slight and frivolous exer- 
tions of volition, that our maxim means to ascribe an 
energy, which shall burst the fetters of the tyrant, and 
topple down the strong-holds of his power? No, gen- 
tlemen. It is to be understood, in the same sense, in 
which it is said, that he who is indifferent to life holds 
the life of his enemy at his mercy. He, to whom this 
world and all its joys, and all its honours are but dross, 
in comparison with that holiness, without which no man 
can see the Lord, is already holy. He who chose wis- 



108 

dom, in preference to beauty, and strength, and wealth, 
and power, and grandeur, was already wise; and the 
people to whom the allurements of ease and luxury, 
and splendour, are without temptation, and death itself 
without terror, when encountered in the cause of free- 
dom, that people is already free. 

In this sense, freedom is an affair of the will, and 
government is a matter of choice. But that choice of 
freedom, which does not prompt to the sacrifices which 
freedom may demand, prevails no more than the desire 
of wealth in the sluggard, who shrinks from the toil 
necessary to earn his daily bread, or the vain wish of 
the voluptuary for a place in heaven, which is nothing 
more than a wish to prolong throughout eternity the 
sinful pleasures of this life. To such lazy preference 
nothing is promised in this world or the next. 

In this sense, freedom is not a matter of choice. The 
singleness of purpose, the strength of will, on which the 
acquisition depends, are hardly less necessary to its 
preservation. When these have spent their force, and 
ambition, and avarice, and the love of pleasure, and the 
love of display, have gained the mastery of the heart, 
freedom no longer exists, except by sufferance. While 
her forms can be made instrumental to the purposes of 
tyranny, the forms will be retained, but the substance 
of freedom is already gone. 

The great and fundamental cause of so much disap- 
pointment to the hopes of freedom in all ages and coun- 
tries, is to be found here. We overlook the difference 
between the will which won the prize, and the will 
which does but only not reject the inheritance: between 
the enterprising father who heaped up treasures for his 
son, and the spendthrift heir who prizes but that he 
may waste them. 

In view of these considerations, it hardly seems too 
much to pronounce, as a political, as well as a moral 
truth, "that the seat of freedom is in the mind." Where 
the love of freedom for its own sake, is the master feel- 
ing of the heart, and the main-spring of action, freedom 
is ever found. When this has given place to an inglo- 



109 

rious sloth, no form of government that the wit of man 
can devise, can tempt her to remain. 

If these thoughts be just, do not they err who consider 
the science of government as an affair of forms ? And 
may it not be, that the signal failure of all experiments 
on free government results from a disregard of the pro- 
per means of preserving in the people that love of free- 
dom which first made them free? Gentlemen, this is 
but too true. Government is not an affair of mere 
speculative choice. It is the creature of circumstances^ 
and it is only so far as man is the author of his own 
character, and of the circumstances which surround 
him, that it depends on him to decide, whether he shall 
live under the regulated discipline of self-government, 
or be subjected to the arbitrary authority of another's 
will. Let his mind be thoroughly imbued with the 
spirit of freedom, and despotism itself will truckle to 
it. Let him be sunk in sloth, enervated by luxury, 
devoted to pleasure, and infatuated by a passion for 
splendour and display, and all the forms of free govern- 
ment are but the instruments by which he renders an 
active compliance to the behests of power. The pre- 
vailing character of a people has been likened to the 
kernel of a nut, which the shell does but protect from 
external influence, while it yields insensibly to the ex- 
pansive growth of the germ within. It may be better 
likened to the shell-fish, whose soft and yielding sub- 
stance gives form to the harsh and impracticable mate- 
rial that clothes it, and throws it off as soon as he out- 
grows it. 

In the first part of this lecture, I laid before you the 
picture of a government, the forms of which were ac- 
cording to the very beau ideal of despotism. But what 
did you see there ? You saw a body politic of which 
the lowest class placed in juxta-position to the degraded 
remnant of a conquered race, were continually reminded 
by the view of servitude of the value of freedom. Con- 
trasting themselves with others in whose abject lot no 
rights were recognised, the single right which was 
allowed to themselves became more precious; and the 
profession of the soldier, for whose subsistence the toil 
10 



110 

of servile hands was employed, assumed the aspect of 
something liberal and noble. The spirit of servitude 
can never enter deeply into the heart made haughty by 
the habitual exercise of unquestioned and inherent au- 
thority; and a total exemption from humble and labo- 
rious occupation engenders a pride which ever chafes 
against control. In these circumstances alone we see 
enough to nurture a spirit with which power, however 
absolute, must be content to temporize, and which in- 
justice must be careful to conciliate. 

A single right, to him who has no more, is more im- 
portant because he has but one. It is guarded with 
more jealousy, and defended more fiercely. It gives 
occasion to controversies with superior power; and 
where, from any cause, that right is deemed a sacred 
thing, it secures, in all such struggles, the triumph of 
the inferior. On all such occasions the spirit of resist- 
ance to oppression acquires vigour, and the possibility 
of like success in the vindication of other rights imme- 
diately occurs to the mind, awakening new hopes, and 
higher views, and bolder thoughts. 

In addition to this, let us never forget that the subor- 
dination, so strict because it was military, was the sub- 
ordination of a soldier. His tasks of duty had nothing 
in them to degrade; and were of a nature to keep his 
mind familiar with danger. His life, whether unre- 
sistingly fulfilling the commands of his superior, or 
struggling against his power, was alike a life of danger; 
and in deciding for himself on the necessity of assert- 
ing his rights by force, he took no "counsel with cold 
fear." The transition from submission to resistance, 
was not a change from ease and quiet, and security and 
luxury, (for to all these he was a stranger,) to the 
dangers and hardships of the field. Human nature 
may well blush to acknowledge, how large a portion of 
the wrongs "that patient merit from the unworthy take," 
are borne from the influence of no other feeling but 
that of fear. The feudal soldier, if not a stranger to 
fear, was placed in a situation where the road to secu- 
rity often lay through the midst of peril. To be chary 
of his life was to lose it, and he thus became familiar 



Ill 

with the thought, that we must sometimes pluck "the 
flower safety" from amidst the thorns of the "nettle 
danger." 

In all these particulars we see causes which must 
engender and keep alive a spirit ever ready to strive 
with power for right. That it did so strive, and that 
the struggle was ultimately successful, we learn from 
history, which establishes fully the truth of the poet's 
maxim, 

"That Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, 
Tho' often lost, is ever won." 

How this triumph was achieved, we shall enquire in the 
next lecture. 



LECTURE VII. 

In comparing the present with the original condition 
of those governments which had their rise in feudalism, 
nothing more forcibly arrests the attention, than the 
change which time has made in the feudal aristocracy. 
In the primitive constitution of each government, the 
whole community seems to have been made up of parts, 
each precisely similar to the other, and similar also to 
the collective whole. Just what the king was to the 
great barons, were these to such of the lesser as be- 
longed to their respective seignories, and then again to 
those subordinate to them, down to the simple knight 
and his few followers. The tenure of property was in 
every case the same; the duties of the inferior to his 
immediate superior the same; the power of life and 
death was alike exercised; at first, to enforce these du- 
ties in. extreme cases, and the ordinary penalty of for- 
feiture for infidelity or the mere failure of feudal duties 
was annexed as a condition to all grants of land. Each 
lordship thus constituted in itself a sort of petty sove- 



112 

reign ty, the authority of which was held to excuse in 
the subordinate all offences against the higher authority 
of the king, committed in obedience to the commands 
of his immediate superior. Hence we find that in the 
close of civil convulsions, when the sword of justice 
came to finish the work of war, the penalties of the law 
fell only on the great chiefs of each insurgent barony. 
Their inferiors, as soon as the game was played out, 
retired peaceably to their homes, and remained in per- 
fect security from the vengeance of the crown. Their 
complete subordination rendered them, in fact, as much 
incapable of legal guilt, as the horses they rode, or even 
as the swords they wielded. They had indeed but 
done their duty, which was to follow their feudal leader 
in his wars against all. his enemies. The justice of his 
quarrels, and the nature of his obligations to others, 
whether high or low, were not to be discussed by them. 
Wherever their chieftain's banner floated, it was their 
business to be found fighting; and to charge this on 
them as a crime would be to impeach the very funda- 
mental principle of all feudal authority. 

The result of this was, that, betweeen the king and 
the lowest feudatory in the realm, there was no imme- 
diate relation of authority and duty. The royal- au- 
thority could only reach the common soldier through 
the long chain of dependence which united the latter 
with the knight, the knight with the lesser baron, the 
baron with the great earls and dukes, and these last 
with the king. 

All this is now changed. The authority of all the 
intermediate classes over those below them has entirely 
disappeared, and instead of that the voice of the law 
speaks alike, and in the same tone, to every man, both 
high and low, rich and poor. To the king, as the head 
of the body politic, and the minister of the law, all are 
alike responsible. No man can plead the authority of 
any other in excuse for any act, nor has the first peer 
of the realm a right to command the obedience of the 
humblest labourer, except in virtue of some contract 
for service, and even this the law declares void, if it 



113 

requires anything inconsistent with the duty of the 
party to the crown. 

Another change, the necessary consequence of this, 
is equally important. At the same time that the au- 
thority of the king has been brought to bear upon the 
lower orders, that which he formerly exercised over 
their superiors has been extended, strengthened and 
confirmed. And this of course. In losing their autho- 
rity over their inferiors, the barons lost all means of 
contending with that of their superior, and felt them- 
selves constrained to submit to him in all things sanc- 
tioned by law. It was presently seen that the well 
being of the body politic required that the whole civil 
conduct of each individual should be brought under the 
control of this general power. Thus it has come to 
pass that the general law of the land is the one autho- 
rity which all are alike bound to obey; that the king, 
its minister and agent, speaks in its behalf in the same 
tone of power to all; and that, under its protection, the 
peer and the peasant are alike secure in the enjoyment 
of their rights, however unequal in themselves these 
rights may be. 

Should we not expect that the laws by which changes, 
so thorough and important, had been effected, would be 
traced in capitals in the code of the kingdom ? Should 
we not expect that the history of the struggle by which 
power was wrested from the hands which formerly 
wielded it, and transferred to another, would be writ- 
ten in characters of blood ? It may awaken a feeling 
of surprise when you are reminded that neither of these 
is the case. The change has been effected entirely by 
concessions for the most part tacit and voluntary, and 
by usurpations quietly acquiesced in. Some of the 
positive enactments which have been mainly instru- 
mental in producing it, are such, as, to the careless 
observer, have nothing political in their character. For 
the most part, it was on the rights of property alone, 
that they were intended to act, and their authors them- 
selves were, perhaps, not aware of the intimate con- 
nection between laws of this sort, and the working of 
government, however constituted. I am afraid few 
10* 



114 

among ourselves are as sensible of this as we should be. 
I am afraid that, in warring against the imaginary aris- 
tocracy of wealth, there is a disposition to wage a war 
against the rights of property, by which all that is valu- 
able in our institutions may be endangered. Of this I 
may say something hereafter. At present my business 
is to detect and explain the principles by the action of 
which these changes were effected. 

There are certain feelings of the human heart, of the 
existence of which unfortunately all are conscious, 
though few are curious to observe the manner of their 
action, and the objects against which they direct it. 
I speak of the feelings of envy and jealousy. The first 
rages against all above us. The other is impatient of 
equals, and looks down in angry and uneasy scorn on 
all below. But. of all men, who is the most prominent 
object of our envy? He who walks directly before us 
in our path, and on whose heels we tread. And who 
is the especial object of our jealousy ? He who follows 
in the same path, and treads on our heels. To these 
two, then, we present, so long as we hold that relative 
position, a common object of aversion, and a temporary 
bond of union. Against him who is thus placed be- 
tween them they make common cause; the one tugging 
at his skirts, the other recalcitrating with all the bitter- 
ness of offended pride. The man who walks on foot 
envies him who rides on a miserable hack, who, in turn, 
envies all who, better mounted, pass him on the road. 
The good wife who jogs to church behind her husband, 
envies her neighbour who titles in a gig; and she, ex- 
posed to the scorching sun, spitefully remarks that "she 
might be as fair as Mrs. Such-aone, who travels in a 
coach, if she could afford to think herself too good to 
let the sun shine on her, or the wind fan her cheek." 
You have all observed this, and you may have remarked 
that this splenetic feeling is most apt to display itself, 
on the subject of some advantage so trivial, that he 
who envies, affects to despise it. "If it were not for 
the name of the thing," says the pedestrian, "I would 
as lief walk, as ride such a horse as that." So we go, 
disparaging what we covet, and especially delighting 



115 

to vent our spite against those objects which we can 
disparage with the greatest appearance of sincerity. 

This which is true of individuals, is yet more true of 
classes, the members of which countenance in each 
other this unamiable disposition, and by their concur- 
rence in expressing the same sentiment, give it some- 
thing which is mistaken for the sanction of public opi- 
nion. It is with each other that members of the same 
class mainly associate, and that which we hear from 
all with whom we converse, passes with us for the opi- 
nion of the world and undisputed truth. 

The disposition of men to classify themselves, and to 
engender, in each class, an esprit du corps, needs no 
prompting. But in the feudal system classification 
was established by law, and that on principles creating 
in each separate class a fixed common interest, which 
engaged its members to act in concert against the class 
next above it, and another, which, in like manner, se- 
cured the co-operation of all against the class next 
below. At the same time there was a principle of 
union running through the whole, as the rights and 
wrongs of all the classes, each in its several place, de- 
pended on the exercise or abuse of the pervading prin- 
ciple of feudal subordination. A relaxation of this in 
one part, was alike a relaxation in all below. 

Should the great baron desire to obtain for himself 
any immunity from the king, he could not do so, but 
on principles which would demand of him to permit the 
same advantage to his immediate subordinates, and to 
require of them a like indulgence to all below them. 
Ambition in the great thus became the handmaid of 
liberty; and the great chieftain who should venture to 
take up arms to procure an extension of his privileges, 
would best secure the co-operation of the inferior classes, 
by an assurance that he was ready to communicate to 
them all that he demanded for himself. Their wishes 
would be with him for their own sakes; and at the same 
time there would be no considerations of prudence to 
restrain them. We have seen that the sort of sovereign 
power exercised by each chieftain over his subordinates, 
emancipated them from all responsibility to the para- 



116 

mount power for acts done in obedience to his com- 
mands. The pains and penalties of treason were for 
him alone. Almost in our own time it has been seen 
that the spirit of clanship in the Scottish highlands was 
for the first time broken down bj the consequences of 
the fatal battle of Culloden. "The butcher Cumber- 
land," not content with bringing to the block the heads 
of the leaders in that insurrection, struck also at their 
humble followers, who were treated as criminals for 
acts done in obedience to the only authority they had 
ever known. A few examples of this sort completely 
undeceived them. Until then, when their chieftain lost 
his life, they saw that it was only what had sometimes 
happened to crowned heads. They cherished ven- 
geance in their hearts, and trained up his son to exe- 
cute it. But so long as they found that their leader 
stood between them and all legal responsibility, and 
that his blood was their sufficient ransom and atone- 
ment, so long their loyalty remained unshaken. While 
this was so, the vassal in following the banner of his 
chieftain had everything to gain and nothing to lose. 
The perils of the field were all he encountered, and 
these habit had taught him to despise, and had even 
made the excitement of danger, in a measure, one of 
his luxuries of life. 

In this state of things, you will see enough to ac- 
count for the turbulent and insurrectionary character 
of feudal governments. You will see too that this cha- 
racter would prevail in a degree proportioned to the 
rigour of the system, while every relaxation, by leaving 
less to struggle for, would render struggles less fre- 
quent. This I am sensible is not the effect of conces- 
sions generally, for it is commonly seen that every privi- 
lege surrendered by power, does but invite to farther 
demands, which are pushed, with increasing eagerness, 
until all is gained that can be asked. But the feudal 
system provided a check for this wanton spirit, which 
makes the removal of real grievances, only a founda- 
tion of complaint against those which are imaginary. 
"When the great baron saw that he could not insist on 
any thing for himself, without surrendering to his infe- 



117 

riors as much as he wrung from his superior, he would 
regulate his demands by the actual experience of evil 
and not by the suggestions of his own caprice. Hence 
in general* nothing would be changed that did not work 
badly, and tfte redress of all grievances which were felt 
to be intolerable, would be demanded with that unani- 
mity to which nothing can be denied. In this we see 
the cause of that slow, but steady and sure progress of 
reform which makes the great body of the political his- 
tory of the English nation. This has seemed to many 
the result of a constitutional peculiarity in that people. 
Is it not rather the result of their peculiar circum- 
stances? At first, I have no doubt it was so. The 
causes in which it originated have Ion"; since ceased to 
exist, but the habits of thinking and acting, formed 
under their influence, remain to this day. 

It would seem then that in the arbitrary character of 
the supreme power itself, and in the very energy of the 
machinery by which it was exerted, there was some- 
thing which made it precarious. The situation of him 
who wielded it was full of danger. The throne of his 
power, like the chariot of the sun, was high and splen- 
did, but perilous and difficult. Its strength was in the 
fierce and fiery character of those who by turns guarded 
and assailed it, and it was not given to every ruler 



Ignibus ill 



Quos in pectore. habent; quos ore et naribus efflant 
In promptn regere." 

The feudal sovereign was like the Tartar prince in 
the oriental tale, who rode to battle on a royal tiger. 
"While he could direct the powers of this formidable 
charger against his enemies, he was irresistible; but 
let the trembling rein betray either weakness or fear, 
and he himself became the victim of the instrument of 
his power. 

Thus circumstanced, a feudal king would see the 
necessity of contriving some means of security from a 
danger so formidable. Against the great feudatories, 
the rivals of his authority, he would endeavour to for- 
tify himself, by obtaining some hold on their inferiors, 



118 

with whose aid alone they could act against him. But 
what hold had he ? They feared him not; for we have 
seen that the law of treason had no terrors for them. 
It was therefore only through their affections that he 
could hope to reach them, and these he would solicit by 
such privileges and indulgences as it belonged to him 
to grant, and by lending his influence and authority to 
the support of their pretensions against their immediate 
superiors. This therefore he would be sure to do, and 
in doing so would confirm and extend his own power. 
For, I beg you to observe, that relaxation in the severity 
of feudal exactions commencing in the lower orders of 
the system, would not extend themselves upward; while 
those originating between the king and his immediate 
subordinates would, as we have seen, work down to the 
very foundations of society. Concession from them to 
their inferiors was the very condition of their co-opera- 
tion in obtaining concessions from the crown: while 
advantages obtained from them by the resistance of 
their vassals, aided by the authority of the throne, 
would establish a bond of union between the king and 
people, and transfer to the hands of the sovereign much 
of that influence over the inferior classes, which had 
previously belonged to the intermediate authorities. 
Looking narrowly to the operation of these principles, 
you will see that their uniform tendency would be to 
the result that was in fact produced. They would 
gradually and surely elevate the lower classes, and ex- 
tend and strengthen the power of the crown, bringing 
it, in the end, to act with equal directness and equal 
force upon all alike. 

The same result was yet more promoted by another 
cause, which gave to all the concessions of power the 
forms and stability of law. Relaxations of authority 
obtained from fear or favour, might cease, when the 
danger had gone by, or when the reins had passed into 
a stronger or a sterner hand. Not so when they had 
taken the shape of positive enactments, and confirmed 
by charters and by oaths, had become a part of the con- 
stitution itself. How this was effected, I proceed to 
show. 



119 

You will remember, that, in the beginning, the king 
appears to have been the sole lawgiver, and we look in 
vain through the feudal constitutions for any limit to 
his authority, besides that which was found in the ac- 
knowledged sanctity of the rights of property. If any 
other right was secure from invasion, it owed its secu- 
rity to public sentiment, or to some real or supposed 
analogy to the right of property, rather than to any 
positive law protecting or recognising it. 

The king himself was not only the head of the sys- 
tem, but, in virtue of lands not granted to feudal fol- 
lowers, but held by himself, and cultivated for his 
benefit by husbandmen of the conquered race, he was 
also the wealthiest and most powerful of the barons. 
But at the same time the charges attending on his royal 
state far exceeded theirs; and the number of depen- 
dents who fed upon his bounty was greater in the same 
proportion. His personal revenues therefore could not 
be expected to be more than equal to his personal wants, 
and for all funds necessary to the performance of his 
kingly duties, he would depend, as we have seen, on 
supplies to be furnished by the community. But how 
were these supplies to be obtained? He was indeed 
the sole lawgiver; but even this high function he exer- 
cised in subordination to the one great principle, that 
the property of even the humblest individual was be- 
yond the reach of authority, and could not be touched 
without his free consent. Every occasion, therefore, 
which demanded extraordinary pecuniary resources, 
threw him on the charity or the public spirit of his people 
for supplies. But let these supplies be demanded for the 
prosecution of a war, or any other expensive measure 
which was decidedly unpopular, and a refusal was a 
matter of course. Such occasions would often admit 
of no disappointment, and he would find himself under 
the necessity of tasking his invention to devise means 
of conciliating those to whom he applied for aid, and 
proposing equivalents for the boon he sought. They, 
on their part, would see their advantage, and would be 
ready enough to assist his invention, by laying their 
grievances before him. 



120 

It would follow then, that when the barons of the 
realm were summoned to attend the king, for the pur- 
pose of receiving his applications for needful supplies, 
they would prepare themselves to echo his application 
with a representation of their wishes. Such representa- 
tions would soon take the shape of bills prepared by 
them for his approbation, and requiring nothing but his 
fiat to give them the force of law. Cases of this sort 
were often of annual recurrence, and, in every instance, 
the non-compliance of the king would be followed by 
a refusal of all supply, unless indeed the public spirit 
and excited feelings of the community should induce 
them to forego their wishes sooner than to sacrifice the 
honour or safety of the nation. 

Still occasions must occur in which they would have 
no reason to fear a denial of their wishes, however un- 
reasonable, and we are left to wonder that the frequency 
of these did not speedily strip the crown of all its 
powers. The reasons why this did not take place were 
twofold. The great barons were jealous of each other, 
and among them there was always to be found some 
one whose extensive resources and soaring ambition 
might make his fellows anxious to uphold a throne, on 
the ruins of which, he stood ready to erect a power not 
less formidable, and far more odious as being that of 
one lately an equal. Another and more prevailing- 
reason might be found in a consideration already ad- 
verted to. The king was the keystone of the feudal 
arch. In him the principle of feudal authority was 
embodied, and the barons necessarily felt that they 
could not rashly shake the foundations of his power, 
without endangering their own. All the concessions 
extorted from the crown would furnish precedents for 
the demand of similar concessions to their own vassals; 
and they were therefore careful not to ask too much. 
Hence they rarely complained of any but actual griev- 
ances, nor demanded any measures but such as were 
salutary to all parties. 

But the very moderation of their demands did but 
make the change in the frame of the government more 
certain, and perhaps more rapid. By making it safe 



121 

for the king to ask their advice and consult their 
wishes, it became a matter of course that he should do 
so. It would follow that they would be encouraged to 
prepare and Jay before the king such statutes and char- 
ters as they might wish him to sanction; and the transi- 
tion would be easy from passing all laws demanded by 
them, to passing none that they did not approve. Their 
approbation could only be expressed by proposing them, 
and their propositions being generally the foundation of 
all changes of the laws, the statutes of the realm would 
soon take the form of enactments made by the king, 
not ex mera voluntate sua, but by and with the advice 
and consent of his baronage. We find accordingly 
that about the time of Richard the Second , soon after the 
conquest, they did assume this form. Instances of the 
same sort sometimes occurred before. Magna Charta 
was one. The public records do not go back beyond 
the time of Richard of the Lion heart; and an event 
occurred in his time which was probably mainly instru- 
mental in establishing the power in question. 

We must be sensible, that, all this time, the king 
would not be without some misgivings at the ultimate 
result of such encroachments on his authority. He 
would eagerly desire to devise some other means of 
supply, and, if possible, to find or create some counter- 
poise to the formidable and growing power of the barons. 
To accomplish both these objects by the same means, 
would be an achievement. The means accordingly 
were sought and found, and the end was accomplished. 
I proceed to explain this. 

Among the unquestioned prerogatives of the king 
was that of establishing; borough towns on his own do- 
mains, and granting charters of incorporation and cor- 
porate rights to his own retainers and tenants. The 
exercise of this right in favour of associations of ar- 
tisans and merchants, might be often highly beneficial 
to them. Those who did not hold of the crown were 
afterwards admitted into these associations. Among 
other advantages obtained by this, and not the least 
valuable, would be the exemption from all dependance 
on the power of the barons. To secure themselves in 
11 



122 

the enjoyment of this exemption, they found it expe- 
dient to collect together in numbers sufficient for their 
common defence, and often to fortify their little com- 
munity by walls. The advantage of pursuing thus, in 
perfect security, occupations always gainful, while the 
cultivators of the soil, and all others not enjoying the 
same advantage, were continually exposed to outrage 
and plunder, was too great not to be eagerly desired. 
The gratitude of those on whom it was conferred would 
display itself in liberal contributions to the necessi- 
ties of the crown, and 'would be perpetuated by the 
necessity of continually looking to the king for his pro- 
tection in the enjoyment of the privileges he had con- 
ferred. This he would be always ready to afford, as 
well from pride as policy^ and the permanent connec- 
tion between the throne and the various municipal 
incorporations of the kingdom, would constitute a for- 
midable obstacle to the encroaching and usurping spirit 
of the barons. 

But the great advantage which the king derived from 
these establishments was found in their readiness and 
ability to supply his wants. Pacific in. their feelings, 
sober,industrious and frugal in their habits, and exempted 
by the humility of their station and the insolent jealousy 
of the barons from all temptation to the extravagance 
of display, and the public ostentation of wealth, they 
quietly pursued their gainful occupations behind the 
shelter of their walls, fortified by the ever ready pro- 
tection of the crown. These considerations soon pointed 
them out as a class capable of ministering largely to 
the necessities of the state, and therefore worthy to be 
consulted in the management of its affairs. Thus, 
whenever occasion made it necessary for the king to 
call upon his barons for counsel and supply, the in- 
habitants of the most opulent cities and trading towns 
were also invited to send deputies to the assembly, duly 
authorized to express their wishes and to give away 
their money, or, in other words, to barter so much pe- 
cuniary aid for so much political immunity. 

A moment's reflection will convince us, that, from 
the first, these deputies would be excluded from the 



123 

assembly of the haughty barons, and would be left to 
consult together as to the measures they might be in- 
clined to suggest, and the supplies they were to furnish 
in return. The pride of blood, and jealousy of the 
newly acquired importance of a class so long insulted 
and trampled on with impunity, would alone be suffi- 
cient to produce this result. But when we reflect, that, 
in the beginning at least, their petitions and remon- 
strances would be offered on behalf of rival and con- 
flicting interests, we shall see that this consequence 
was inevitable. If acting together, they could rarely 
be expected to coincide in their wishes. If separated 
into two houses, the king might drive with either the 
best bargain he could, and, except in extreme cases, 
his co-operation with either would render the com- 
pliance of the other unavoidable. The political power 
of the crown, backed by the wealth and numbers of 
either party, would be too strong for successful oppo- 
sition. At the same time, should both houses happen 
to concur in the same demand, and make the compli- 
ance of the king the indispensable condition of supply, 
his assent to their demands could not be safely with- 
held. This would the more surely happen, because the 
coincidence of two rival interests in the same views, 
could never be expected but in cases where they were 
palpably just and reasonable. The consequence was, 
that the concurrence of two of the three estates of the 
realm, would rarely fail to- secure the acquiescence of 
the third. The harmony resulting from this being 
highly«desirable to all parties, they would habitually 
seek to come to a right understanding among them- 
selves. But as the forms of the constitution still con- 
templated the throne as the seat of power and source 
of authority, and the sanction of the crown as a thing 
to be solicited, not demanded, no better plan could be 
devised for bringing before the king the common wishes 
both of peers and burgesses than bills prepared in either 
house, and discussed and modified between the two, 
until made acceptable to both. 

It seems that about the same time that the boroughs 
became so important as to be invited to send deputies 



124 

to parliament, another class of men rose into a conse- 
quence not at first belonging to them. I mean that 
class of feudal land-holders below the degree of barons, 
and not holding immediately of the crown. As the 
power of their immediate superiors sunk before the 
united force of the king and burgesses, they found 
occasion to extricate themselves from many of the 
rigorous restraints of feudalism, and of course to make 
considerable advances in the universal pursuit of wealth. 
I have already pointed out the principle which would 
secure to them the co-operation of the crown in all 
their struggles with the barons. Grateful for this, they 
too would be disposed to give freely of their substance 
to the support of the power under whose protection it 
had increased. Hence the freeholders of each county 
or shire were invited to depute two knights to attend 
the king in his parliaments, authorized to represent the 
wishes and to give away the money of the whole. In 
the selection of these, land-holders, not of the degree 
of knighthood, were permitted to concur, and thus the 
parliament at length contained the representatives of 
all the property of the kingdom. Those deputed by 
the shires belonging to the same order with the depu- 
ties of the boroughs, and bound to them by a common 
jealousy of the power of the barons, were consigned to 
the lower house, constituting what is now known as the 
house of commons. The parliament thus comprised 
the three estates of the realm, in full. assembly; the king 
and peers being present in person, the commons by 
their representatives freely chosen. The concurrence 
of all three became necessary to the enactment of every 
law, and the legislative power, before exercised by the 
king alone, became vested in the king, lords and com- 
mons, acting in unison. 

The remarkable fact is, that this change was effected 
without any legislative enactment whatsoever; that it 
was made without a struggle; and that the transition 
was so gradual that the most curious and learned anti- 
quaries have sought in vain to trace it. We can only 
see that in the preambles to the statutes enacted under 
successive kings, the language used is more and more 



125 

complimentary to the inferior orders, and imputes to 
them more and more of authority in the enactment of 
the laws. Yet it is indisputable, that down to the late 
reform in parliament, there is no trace of any law re- 
quiring the presence of any individual there, either in 
his own right, or as the representative of others. The 
king, at the first, seems to have summoned to the house 
of peers only such as he thought proper, and, at this 
day, the record of these early summonses is the oldest 
and proudest patent of nobility in the families in which 
they can be traced. It does not appear, that, in sum- 
moning knights of the shires, he ever made any dis- 
tinction; though it was certainly of his mere will and 
pleasure, that, while the little county of Rutland was 
represented by two knights, no larger number appeared 
on behalf of Yorkshire or Northumberland. As to the 
boroughs he certainly governed himself by no criterion 
but that of their ability and disposition to grant sup- 
plies. Those indeed who had been once summoned 
seemed to have a claim to be summoned again, which 
generally ripened into an established right; on the 
principle, I presume, that having contributed to the 
king's necessities, they had a fair claim to be consulted 
in his affairs. 

This hasty view of the progress of the English con- 
stitution suggests many valuable reflections. 

1. Eight hundred years ago, the government of that 
which is now the freest country in Europe, was de- 
cidedly the most despotic; and the change has been 
effected by the peaceful operation of the acknowledged 
sanctity of the right of property, which purchased the 
emancipation of every other right. 

2. This result was aided by the mutual jealousy of 
the proximate classes, and the consequent co-operation 
of the alternate classes against the intermediate class. 
The effect of this was to raise the lower orders, to sta- 
bilitate and extend the power of the crown, and, at the 
same time, to mitigate its harshness. 

3. We are enabled to account for the representation 
of those which have been called the rotten boroughs of 
the kingdom. Had they owed this to any known lav, 

11* 



126 






that law would have been repealed when their wealth 
and population ceased to exist. But they owed it to 
the prerogative of the king, which could not be invaded. 
He had summoned their deputies at first to contribute 
to his wants, an*d he continued to summon them, be- 
cause he found them convenient for another purpose, 
which I shall explain hereafter. 

4. We see that, at first, property was the only in- 
ducement to the summoning of either peers or depu- 
ties; that the presence of the holders of property and 
their representatives was alone desired; and hence we 
learn how it was that property has been always con- 
sidered as essential to the right to be represented in 
parliament. 

The great and important truth, that we learn from 
all this, is that which I have already propounded. 
Causes acting on the elastic spirit of man often pro- 
voke a recoil which ends in results exactly the reverse 
of those which the direct operation of those causes 
would tend to produce. Primary action is slow, deli- 
berate, reasoning and deficient in energy. Reaction is 
sudden, impetuous, uncalculating and irresistible. It 
is the great principle of destruction in the moral as in 
the physical world. Reaction gives energy to the fires 
of the volcano, terrible because pent up. Reaction is 
the political earthquake, which shakes down the strong- 
holds of power, and scatters them in wide-spread ruin 
over the now smiling fields which the oppressions of 
power had wasted and made barren. This is the states- 
man's great lesson, and he whose eye is Steadily fixed 
on the direct operation of political constitutions, looks 
away from the real danger, which, in his moment of 
fancied success, may bring destruction on all his hopes. 
That this truth is of universal application to all go- 
vernments, it is the main purpose of these lectures to 
show. - If I succeed in this, you will go away con- 
vinced of the danger of relying wholly on forms for 
the preservation of your rights, and properly impressed 
with the value of the maxim so often repeated and so 
little understood: "That the price of freedom is eternal 
vigilance." 



127 



LECTURE VIII. 

I cannot dismiss the subject of the English constitu- 
tion without some additional remarks. It is not enough 
to have shown the operation of the principles of feudal- 
ism in developing the principal features of that consti- 
tution. These principles, acting alone, ought to have 
produced the same results everywhere. It is not pre- 
tended that they did so. In France they broke down 
the power of the nobles, and extended, and enlarged, 
and strengthened that of the crown, without elevating 
the lower classes. In Germany they resulted in the 
establishment of the great barons in the character of 
arbitrary though petty sovereigns, and in the degrada- 
tion of the inferior barons. The effect upon the people 
was the same as in France. Their condition was not 
improved; their political rights were not recognised; 
and the head of the empire became nothing more than 
the chief of a confederacy of kings, each ruling with 
undisputed and unmitigated sway over his own domi- 
nions. 

These diversities show that other causes besides those 
I have noted, were at work in effecting the modifica- 
tions which all these governments have undergone since 
the early ages of feudalism. By pointing out some of 
these which were peculiar to those countries respec- 
tively, I expect to account for some of these diversities. 
At the same time I shall perhaps add to the strength 
of the argument, already offered, and may be enabled 
to show that all which is common to each country, and 
much which is peculiar to England, were the result of 
the indomitable elasticity of the human mind reacting 
against the principles of feudalism. 

From the insular situation of England, her wars were 
almost always wars of ambition. The Scotch were in- 
deed troublesome neighbours, whose hostile temper and 
warlike spirit made the situation of the border counties 
precarious. But of these there were but two or three, 
whose safety was ever threatened by dangers proceed- 



128 

ing from that quarter. The rest of the kingdom had 
never anything to apprehend from the arms of Scotland, 
and all the general wars between the two kingdoms 
were undertaken without a view to the interests of the 
great body of the realm. Their object was either to 
chastise and avenge the wrongs of a remote and unim- 
portant section, or to advance the pretensions of the 
kings of England to the Scottish crown. As to dangers 
from the continent, England rested secure from these 
behind the bulwark of the sea. Her early kings, too, 
were masters of wealthy and populous provinces in 
France, on the side next to England; and these pro- 
vinces they continued to hold, until successive wars 
had taught the French to dread the power of their insu- 
lar neighbour, and to expect nothing from their wars 
with her but hard and unprofitable blows. But these 
wars were frequent, and they are always wars of kingly 
ambition. 

The condition of the continental states, was, in this 
respect, widely different. The nearly equal power of 
France, Germany and Spain, made each a dangerous 
neighbour to the other. In all their wars, one party or 
the other stood in necessary defence of" all that men 
hold dear; and the aggressor himself was often actuated 
less by ambition, than by a prudent foresight, watchful 
to avert a future danger by anticipating it. In such 
wars all classes from the king to the peasant felt a 
common interest. Hence occasions would rarely occur, 
when the demand for necessary and extraordinary sup- 
plies would find either the nobles or the inferior orders 
in a humour to withhold them, or to lose time by 
making conditions with the crown. Concessions there- 
fore would be rarely demanded and rarely made. 

Let me here make a remark, which, in another place, 
I shall extend and enforce by argument and example. 
It is, that all wars have a tendency to increase the 
power of the executive head of government. This effect 
will be greater, in proportion as the' war is popular, as 
it is necessary, and as it is in the defence or assertion of 
the safety or essential rights of the whole community. 
The efficacy of military operations depends on nothing 



129 

more than that concentrated energy, which cannot be 
exerted but by a hand armed with uncontrolled autho- 
rity. The necessity of such authority in the sovereign 
is felt in a degree proportioned to the urgency of the 
danger, and men rarely hesitate about the grant of 
powers to be exerted, in the first instance, in defence 
of all that is dear to them. The wars of the continent 
would be more frequently of this character than those 
of England. They would consequently have this ten- 
dency in a greater degree, and this, uncompensated by 
concessions wrung from power, as the price of pecu- 
niary aids, would soon make a great difference between 
the authority of English and continental kings. The 
effect would be to establish the latter in a power, not 
won from the nobles by , the aid of the people, but inde- 
pendent of both. On the relation between the subordi- 
nate orders it had no effect, and hence the power of^ie 
crown was increased, without elevating the lower orders, 
or rendering the authority of the barons less arbitrary 
or less portly in its external aspect. On the contrary 
they gathered strength by various means, and single 
chiefs were often found defying the power of their su- 
zerain, long after the authority of the crown in England 
was firmly established. Yet even here the very force 
they wielded reacted on themselves. Their insubordi- 
nation often endangered the state, at moments when 
the public safety required that all the resources of the 
kingdom should be at the disposal of the king. Emer- 
gencies arose, when the feudal militia was found inade- 
quate to the common defence, and men were prepared 
to acquiesce in the organization of bodies of regular 
and disciplined troops, to be placed under the absolute 
control of the crown. The necessity for these was first 
felt, when an effort was made under Charles VII. to 
expel the English from France. Here was the founda- 
tion of the arbitrary power of Louis XI. With the 
introduction of standing armies came new ideas of the 
rights of property. The king no longer felt the recog- 
nition of these rights to be indispensable to his influ- 
ence over those by whom his power was upheld. The 
mercenary soldier sees no analogy between his right to 



130 






his pay, and the right of the landholder to the produce 
of the soil, or the right of the labourer to the earnings 
of his labour. The work of rapine and plunder never 
comes amiss to him; and a king, supported by an ade- 
quate force of this character, soon claimed the right to 
take, for the necessities of the state, those supplies, 
which he had before asked as a free gift, or purchased, 
by concessions to liberty. The introduction of stand- 
ing armies into France, by adding energy to the mili- 
tary operations of that kingdom, rendered them neces- 
sary also to her continental neighbours. But the influ- 
ence of this cause did not extend to England. She 
was saved by her insular situation from copying this 
dangerous example. Hence her monarchs never found 
themselves at the head of a force strong enough to ena- 
ble them to invade the rights of property, and to fill 
th^coffers of the crown by any means, except the grants 
of parliament. Charles I., mistaking his prerogative 
and his situation, made the attempt, which cost him his 
head. The principles, which he had invaded, were 
thus brought into bold relief, and, consecrated by the 
blood shed in their defence, acquired a sanctity, which 
preserves them at this day, when their origin is entirely 
forgotten. 

The insular, situation of England gave her advantages 
for. commercial pursuits, which, at an early day, made 
them highly profitable to those engaged in them. The 
advantages of commerce communicate a spring to all 
the business of life, and increase the prosperity of all 
classes of society. Hence the commercial cities and 
great boroughs of England soon acquired an opulence 
known nowhere else but in Flanders. They thus hast- 
ened the emancipation of the king from his dependence 
on the barons, and furnished him, at once, with the 
means and the inducement to elevate the lower classes, 
and to degrade their superiors. The spirit of freedom 
accordingly showed itself sooner, and worked with 
more energy and boldness in these cities and boroughs 
than elsewhere. Had the Flemings been placed, like 
the English, out of the reach of any superior foreign 
power, they would probably have kept equal pace with 



131 

them, in the advance to freedom. But they were 
crushed by external force, while England, exempt from 
all dangers of that sort, steadily advanced to the esta- 
blishment of a constitution, which, for a long time, was 
regarded by all European statesmen, as a model of po- 
litical and personal liberty. In the history of her pro- 
gress there are some particulars well deserving your 
attention, and to some of these I propose to call it. 

I have more than once observed that government 
must necessarily conform itself to circumstances, and 
to none more than to changes in condition and charac- 
ter of the people. It is impossible that the same go- 
vernment which is best for a horde of poor and ignorant 
barbarians, can be best for an enlightened, refined, rich 
and luxurious community. The government which is 
made necessary by the vices of a people incapable of 
self-government, cannot be best for those who have 
learned to understand and appreciate their rights, and, 
having brought their passions under subordination to 
reason, and their self-love to love of country, need no 
restraints but the restraints of conscience, and no law 
but such as they impose on themselves. The govern- 
ment, which the precarious condition of the feudal 
kingdoms made indispensable to their safety, would, at 
this day, suit no nation under the sun. Even the go- 
vernment of the king, lords and commons of England 
as it stood in the reign of the Third Edward, could not 
now be endured for a day by the English people. 

Yet, in name, the same government remains, and, 
until the late reform in parliament, its powers were 
exercised by the same king, the same house of peers, 
and the same knights of the shires, and representatives 
from the same cities and boroughs, some of which ex- 
isted only in name, and in the constitution of the king- 
dom. Was the constitution then the same ? By no 
means. Its forms remained. Was their operation dif- 
ferent? Entirely. Let us then look into this curious 
matter. 

Next after the character of a people, there is nothing 
on which the aptitude of their political institutions so 
much depends as on the distribution of property. 






Where this is equal, where all men are found in the 
enjoyment of equal rights to equal things, there can be 
no pretext for anj inequality of political privileges. 
The only advantage which can stand in need of protec- 
tion from the law, is that of wealth. Superior virtue is 
an object of veneration and love, to which even bad 
men pay a willing homage. Superior talent is itself a 
sword and a shield to the possessor. The same is true 
of wealth to a certain extent. Up to a point not easily 
defined, it is a source of influence, which is rarely ex- 
erted except to effect the establishment of such a sys- 
tem of jurisprudence as secures the faithful fulfilment 
of contracts, and the peaceable enjoyment of the rights 
of all men alike. When it has passed that point, it too 
often renders the possessor vain, ostentatious, insolent, 
oppressive, and unjust, and sets him up as the object 
at once of envy and scorn, and marks him as the natu- 
ral prey of rapacity. 

That, in this situation he will stand in need of some 
special protection from the laws, is certain. Whether 
he will deserve it: — and, even if he do not, whether a 
due regard to the rights of others may not make it ne- 
cessary to establish institutions which may shelter him 
as well as them: — What means would be best suited to 
this object: — and whether the muniments and safe- 
guards, thrown around property, may not, in the end, 
invite and provoke the aggressions which they were at 
first intended to repel, are questions for the statesmen 
and political philosopher. It is not my intention to 
discuss any of these in this place. How they were de- 
cided in the country of our forefathers, and why they 
were so decided, is the subject now before us. 

England was from the first, a commercial country^ 
and it is of the nature of commerce to engender a scru- 
pulous regard to the rights of property in its votaries. 
That unhesitating fidelity to engagements, which forms 
the basis of all commercial credit and commercial pros- 
perity, will always turn a deaf ear to suggestions unfa- 
vourable to the sanctity and security of property. The 
importance therefore of providing for it some constitu- 



133 

tional safeguards was felt and acknowledged, as soon 
as the advancing prosperity of the country had produced 
its appropriate effect of increasing inequality in wealth. 
To devise these was the problem. A believer in con- 
stitution? I forms might have proposed to raise the pro- 
perty qualification of the voter, or of the representa- 
tive. This might do; but how was it to be accom- 
jMished unless those, who, till then, enjoyed the rights 
of suffrage, and of seats in parliament, should agree to 
vote their own disfranchisement? Others might have 
proposed that men of a certain estate should, as of right, 
be advanced to the peerage. But however the rights 
of property are entitled to respect, the possessors. of it 
are not always respectable; and the far-descended pride 
of those who traced themselves to the victors at Hast- 
ings or Creci, would repel indignantly the claim of 
equality on the part of upstart wealth, wrung perhaps 
by extortion or fraud from their own necessities. Turn 
where you might, the attempt to provide peculiar poli- 
tical privileges for wealth, would be baffled by insu- 
perable difficulties, arising from the envy of the less 
fortunate, the jealousy of equals, and the offended pride 
of real or imagined superiority. 

But, in the advance of society, changes rarely come 
alone; and it seldom happens that men feel the want of 
some new political contrivance, without, at the same 
time, discovering that some old one has become super- 
fluous. The statesmen of England seem to have been 
always ready to avail themselves of this; and they have 
rarely failed to work up the rubbish of such parts of the 
constitution as have fallen to decay, into new struc- 
tures devised for the protection of new interests. 

You will remember that the selection of those bo- 
roughs from which the king proposed to summon mem- 
bers to parliament, was made many hundred years ago. 
As his object at first was mainly, if not solely, to ob- 
tain supplies, it was anything but a privilege to be so 
summoned, it is indeed possible that, in the begin- 
ning, all grants, whether of peer or municipality, may 
have been acts of separate and individual good will. 
But when the application for these led to the demand 
12 



134 



of political immunities by way of equivalent, the dis- 
cussion of the nature and extent of these immunities 
would soon give to the assembled peers and deputies 
the character of deliberative bodies. Having to come 
to some agreement among themselves as to the laws to 
be proposed for the sanction of the king, they must also 
agree upon the supplies to be furnished in consideration 
of such laws. The obvious resort to a vote, would soon 
make the decision of a majority binding for both pur- 
poses. But so long as the political rights of the assem- 
bled peers and commons amounted to no more than a 
right to petition, it was obviously a matter rather de- 
sirable than otherwise to those who were summoned, 
that others should be summoned too. Accordingly 
there is no reason to believe that the selection was 
made by any other rule than that of the will and plea- 
sure of the prince. But so soon as the right to petition 
ripened into a right to be consulted, and sometimes 
almost amounted to a right to dictate, it would follow 
that this right would be guarded with some jealousy. 
Those who exercised it once would claim to exercise it 
again, and might do so most plausibly; on the ground 
of aids already rendered to the crown. But it would 
soon lose all its value, if liable to be shared with any, 
whom the king, in order to secure a majority in his fa- 
vour, might summon with that view alone. It appears 
accordingly, that at some time, which it is now impos- 
sible to ascertain, a limit was imposed in the discretion 
of the crown in this respect. Knights of the shires 
were first summoned by Simon de Montfort, whose 
strength was in his popularity with the lower orders. 
Something of the same sort occurred occasionally after- 
wards, but they do not appear to have been summoned 
as a matter of course until the 23 Edw. 3. Since then 
they have been regarded as an essential part of the par- 
liament. Two points in the constitution then became 
fixed: 

1. That all who had ever been summoned to the 
house of peers, and two deputies from every city or 
borough that had ever furnished deputies, and two 



135 

knights from every shire, had a right to seats in their 
respective houses of parliament. 

2. That the number of knights should not be in- 
creased, and that no deputies should be summoned 
from any city or borough which had not already sent 
them. 

On the right of (he king to increase the house of 
peers by new creations, no limit was imposed; accord- 
ingly such new creations are made to this day, and one 
essential form by which the new peer is established in 
that character, is, as of old, a writ of summons, in 
which, in addition to his name and surname, he is de- 
signated for the first time by the new title of duke, 
marquis, earl, viscount, or baron. I shall not stop 
here to inquire why this prerogative of the crown is 
still exercised as formerly. Whatever the reasons 
were, they w 7 ere not supposed to apply to the house of 
commons, and that house therefore for many hundred 
years consisted of the knights of the shires, and of 
deputies from the same boroughs and no others. The 
rise of new marts of commerce, and the establishment 
of great manufacturing towns, which had no representa- 
tion, seemed strangely in contrast with some of the pri- 
vileged boroughs whose prosperity, wealth, and num- 
bers had passed away. Of one of these it was truly 
said, "that the representatives were more numerous 
than the constituents, that the streets could be only 
distinguished by the colour of the corn, and that the 
only manufacture was that of members of parliament." 

But this grotesque disproportion, though the subject 
of a standing reproach against the structure of the 
house of commons, was necessarily borne, because the 
forms of the constitution afforded no remedy. To the 
king alone it belonged to summon members to parlia- 
ment, and his faculty of summoning members from bo- 
roughs previously unrepresented, was supposed to have 
long since exhausted itself. Hence Birmingham, with 
her manufactories, her wealth, and her swarming popu- 
lation, necessarily remained unrepresented. On the 
other hand the right of those boroughs which had been 
immemorially represented, to be represented still, was 



136 

not to be questioned. So long as elections were held, 
and members returned by votes lawfully given, there 
was no authority to enquire whether those votes were 
few or many. -One was enough, and hence the borough 
of Old Sarum continued to send two members to par- 
liament by virtue of the single vote of the proprietor of 
the spot where once that borough stood. There were 
many others in the same condition, where the proprie- 
tor was in the habit of returning, by his own fiat, him- 
self and any friend with whom he might think fit to 
share the representation. The right to do this" became 
a source of profit. In many instances, doubtless, the 
seat was bought. In all cases it would be in the power 
of the proprietor of such a borough to purchase the 
favour of the crown for himself or his friends, by fur- 
nishing a seat in parliament to any one whom the mi- 
nister might wish to introduce. But besides this, 
wealthy men, actuated by that false ambition which is 
content to occupy posts of honour, though the post itself 
be degraded by the demerits of the incumbent, would 
often be eager to secure to themselves a seat in parlia- 
ment for life, and to transmit the same in their fami- 
lies, at the price of a few thousand pounds. 

From these causes these close boroughs, as they were 
called, soon acquired a market value, over and above 
the intrinsic worth of the property, as so much land. 
This value increased in proportion to the increasing 
numbers and wealth of those who desired to appro- 
priate them; or, in other words, in proportion to the 
increasing disparity in property, and the consequent 
accumulation of wealth in a few hands. The conse- 
quence was, that, in the end, the price rose to such a 
height, that none but the very wealthy could afford to 
hold them. These, of course, constituted themselves 
the representatives of the peculiar interests of the 
monied class, and thus that interest obtained a place 
among the orders of the state, and a voice in its coun- 
cils, just at the moment when the necessity was felt of 
providing for it some extraordinary securities. It was 
indeed but a small representation, but the interest it 
was meant to guard was too important to be committed 



137 

to the hands of inefficient representatives. The pro- 
prietor might indulge his vanity by returning himself 
as one, but he made amends for this, by selecting, as 
his associate, some man of distinguished ability, of his 
own party, who might otherwise never have obtained 
a seat in parliament. To this very borough of Old 
Sarum the people of England owed their knowledge 
of the merit of the celebrated lord Chatham. Mr. 
Canning, (the first man of his day,) is said to have 
been brought forward in the same manner. When the 
injustice of the people of Bristol rejected the services 
of Mr. Burke, and the caprice of the voters of West- 
minster drove Charles Fox from parliament, they were 
both restored to the councils of the nation by the same 
means. 

Another political structure was, in like manner, 
erected out of the ruins of decayed boroughs. The 
rise of the inferior orders gave them a consequence 
which threatened the prerogatives of the crown. A 
safeguard for these was sought and found. The king, 
you will remember, was, in early days, the greatest of 
the barons of the kingdom; and in those places where 
his baronial estate lay, he governed with unbalanced 
power. The inhabitants of boroughs within these estates 
were his tenants in capite, having a right to be present 
at every assemblage of his vassals as pares curiae, either 
in person or by deputies. It was here that the idea of 
representation took its rise. Moreover his object in 
summoning deputies to parliament was to obtain sup- 
plies, and he would therefore be most apt to select 
these among his friends and dependents. Hence he 
was sure to summon deputies from all those boroughs, 
over which his baronial authority gave him a controlling 
influence. The king, for example, was duke of Gorn- 
wall, and hence we find that that county had a repre- 
sentation in parliament, from its different boroughs, of 
about thirty members. These were always subject to 
the influence of the king, and, in such of them as had 
fallen to decay, that influence was decisive. Here then 
was a peculiar representation in the house of commons 
contrived to fence the prerogatives of the crown, against 
12* 



138 

the encroachments of other interests. This representa- 
tion too was small, and therefore the more select an^i 
efficient. The ministers of the king are necessarily 
members of parliament, and this representation secured 
him the command of the services of every man in the 
kingdom, who might be willing to take a place in his 
councils. But for this, the caprice of a single county 
or borough might have deprived him of the choice of 
his minister. But for this too, he might wish in vain 
for the support of some able man in the house of com- 
mons to explain and advocate his measures there. 

I shall have occasion to refer to this subject hereafter, 
for the purpose of explaining one point in our own con- 
stitution, which, I think, is much misunderstood. I 
have therefore given this slight sketch of the nature of 
what have been called the rotten, and the royal boroughs, 
because this seemed the proper place for it. 

"But I had other reasons. For a long time, the Eng- 
lish constitution was considered as the most curious 
and interesting study of the political philosophers. It 
seemed to be thought, that, in the other kingdoms of 
Europe, the causes, which modified their primitive 
feudal constitutions, had been left to work their own 
results, uncontrolled by any considerations drawn from 
the teachings of philosophy. Passion was left to do 
its perfect work, unchecked by these, and the oppres- 
sion of the multitude, the plunder of the rich, and the 
degradation of the great have been the alternate conse- 
quences, while, in each extremity, and in every muta- 
tion, wisdom has been derided, virtue dishonoured, and 
happiness destroyed. The triumphs of freedom were 
celebrated by anarchy and misrule; the restoration of 
law and order, by tyranny and oppression; while the 
boldest asserters of the one, and the mild, calm advo- 
cates of the other, alternately fell be'neath the sword of 
the common executioner. 

While this was passing on the continent of Europe, 
the operation of similar causes in England was seen to 
bend in some measure to the influence of the maxims 
of political philosophy. There, as elsewhere, struggles 
took place, and convulsions often shook the whole fabric 



139 

of government to the foundation. But among that people 
there seemed to prevail a cautious temper, too wise to 
oppose directly the tempestuous course of the different 
elements of society, as, one by one, they broke forth, as 
from the cave of iEolus, and swept over the wasted 
land. They waited till the blast had spent its force, 
and then, calmly surveying the ruin, they betook them- 
selves to the task of selecting the objects most sus- 
ceptible and worthy of repair, and turning to the pur- 
pose of new and useful structures, the very fragments 
of all, which was given up as irreparable. The par- 
ticulars of which I have spoken may be taken as ex- 
amples of this. But there remains another view of these, 
more curious and interesting, and even more important, 
than that which I have presented. 

In the beginning, we have seen, that the kin"; was 
the sole lawgiver. In form he continued to be so, long 
after he ceased to promulgate laws without the advice 
of the lords and commons. At length their right to an 
authoritative voice in the enactment was distinctly 
recognised. Still there is no provision in the constitu- 
tion, by which the power of the king to, arrest the 
passage of any law, is in the least modified. His right 
to veto a bill", passed by the unanimous votes of both 
houses, is as unquestionable, as his right to the crown. 
Yet surely if there was any one point, in which the 
more liberal ideas of modern times would seem to de- 
mand an abatement of royal prerogative, it was this. 
Now, in point of fact, the king never does refuse his 
sanction to the enactments of the two houses. Are we 
then to infer from this, that the veto power has been 
tacitly and totally surrendered ? By no means. The 
same power is exercised in another form, but was made 
subject to a modification, which exactly suited it to our 
own ideas of that power, as it should be. In saying 
this, I allude to the qualified veto of the president 
of the United States, who has power to arrest the 
passage of any law not passed by the concurrent votes 
of two-thirds of both houses of congress. Now we have 
seen that the house of commons in England was made 
up of the representatives of numbers, the representa- 



140 

tives of the landed interest, the commercial interest, 
and the monied interest, and the representatives of the 
crown. Let us remember too, that, in addition to this 
direct representation, the king had an influence pro- 
ceeding from the authority and patronage of his station, 
and that he would, in general, have more than an equal 
share of the sympathy of the landed, commercial, and 
monied interests. In view of all these things it must 
be manifest, that the passage of a law through the house 
of commons, as constituted before the late reform, could 
only take place in opposition to the wishes of the crown, 
when demanded by the wishes of at least two-thirds of 
the people. Now experience had shown, that it was 
unsafe for the king to oppose himself to the will of such 
a majority, however ascertained; and he consequently 
learned to content himself with the exercise of his pre- 
rogative so far as it could be exerted to affect the vote 
of the house of commons, and no more. The practical 
working of the constitution therefore became the same, 
in this respect, as if the representation had been 
equalized, and the absolute veto exchanged for one 
qualified as with us. But in this way an advantage 
was gained, which no formal change of the constitu- 
tion could have given. By this means all collisions 
between the commons and the crown were prevented; 
for not only did a majority in that house against the 
crown show a majority among the people, whose wishes 
must be respected, but the same fact was sufficiently 
shown by a very large minority. To such a minority, 
therefore, as was understood to represent a large ma- 
jority of the people, the same complying deference was 
always paid. When it was found arrayed against a 
measure, the ministers of the crown ceased to press it. 
When in favour of one, the royal opposition was with- 
drawn. The shock of collision between two branches 
of the government was thus avoided, the operations of 
government experienced no check, and all went on 
smoothly and harmoniously; the king having seemed to 
yield, rather through courtesy, than of necessity. 

Nor did the advantage of this informal system stop 
there. Whenever the minister found himself supported 



141 

only by a bare majority of the commons, in his general 
course of measures, he saw, in this, a plain intimation 
that both he and they were unacceptable to the people. 
In such a state of things, therefore, he resigned as a 
matter of course: some leader of the opposite party 
took his place, and the whole course of the govern- 
ment was changed. Hence it became a proverb, that, 
"for a prince to change his ministers without changing 
his measures, is to be like a sick man, who changed his 
physician without changing his remedies." When we 
reflect, that the minister is the efficient head of the ex- 
ecutive, and that the power of the king is little more 
than the power to appoint the minister, we shall see, 
that, in this quiet way, changes were effected, not less 
than those which we sometimes propose to ourselves, in 
electing a new president, and altering the entire com- 
position of both houses of congress. 

Another curious consequence of this anomalous sys- 
tem well deserves remark. The peers, in virtue of their 
property and extensive local interest, have a large 
representation in the house of commons. In a vote of 
that house then, in opposition to their wishes, they too 
read a lesson, which they soon learned to profit by. 
The result was, that, for more than a century, the lords 
never opposed, by a direct vote, any measure which 
they had been unable to arrest in the lower house, and 
thus the people were never exasperated, by any colli- 
sion between the aristocratic and the popular branches 
of the government. How far it was desirable that they 
should be thus kept in a good humour with the govern- 
ment, is not the question here to be considered. That 
to those who administered it, and whose privileges were 
upheld by it, it must be desirable, no man can doubt; 
and all must admire the ingenuity and address with 
which such means as the case afforded, were used for 
this purpose. To the practical statesman, therefore, 
this part of the English constitution presents a most 
curious and instructive study. 

But to us, gentlemen, it teaches a lesson of the most 
solemn interest and of the highest practical importance. 
It teaches, that, whatever the forms of a constitution 



142 

may be, they who administer it can mould it to their 
purpose, and make it an instrument in the hands of 
whatsoever interest may predominate in the state. 
Against the encroaching spirit of such an interest, there 
can be no security in any forms that the wit of man 
can devise. On the contrary, it is always of the 
nature of such interests to increase, and to multiply 
their means of aggression and defence; and this they 
will continue to do, until the oppressed portions of 
the community, exasperated by the sense of intoler- 
able wrong, and insulted by the boastful display of the 
wealth and power of their oppressors, shall storm their 
strongholds, and demolish at once the fabric of their 
prosperity, and the constitution that protected it. 

It is here that we are to look for the nature and cause 
of that remarkable change in the working of our own 
government which has taken place within the last quar- 
ter of a century. Twenty-five years ago, it was not 
perceived, that it gave undue advantages to any section, 
or to any interest. Within that time we find, that all 
its measures have assumed a steady tendency to build 
up the wealth and prosperity of the northern section of 
the Union, and to degrade and oppress the south. 
During that time, a process has been going on, the 
uniform operation of which is, to transfer the wealth of 
the latter to the former; to impoverish a country, blessed 
by nature with everything conducive to wealth, and to 
enrich one, which, separated from the rest of the Union, 
would be consigned to hopeless poverty. The reason 
of this is, that a local interest has been found, or created, 
which, from natural causes, is the fixed local interest of 
a numerical majority. This therefore is the prevailing 
interest in this republic. Once firmly established, and 
clearly ascertained, it takes to itself the administration 
of the constitution, and, in its hands, that instrument 
becomes the instrument of its will. In such a state of 
affairs, forms are of no consequence; and he who pleads 
them is told that he deals in abstractions, and tauntingly 
asked, whether the framers of our institutions could 
have been "so ineffably stupid," as to deny to the repre- 
sentatives of a majority of the people a right to do any 



143 



thing to the advantage of their constituents. How idle 
it is, when this idea is urged by men having power to 
enforce it, to contend for the antagonist rights of a help- 
less and hopeless minority, sacrificed to this prevailing 
interest, and oppressed and plundered according to the 
most approved forms of free government! If they are 
still free, then freedom is of little worth. If not, it 
shows how well the forms of freedom may co-exist with 
the worst evils of slavery. 



LECTURE IX. 

In the two last lectures I have endeavoured to lay 
before you the political character of feudalism, and to 
show the working of the principles of that system, in 
developing the governments of which we know most, 
and especially that of England. I selected this be- 
cause it afforded the clearest view of the operation of 
those causes which inhered in the nature of the thing. 
It also furnished an example of the modification of this 
operation by political sagacity and address, and a re- 
markable illustration of the power of prevailing interests 
to mould to their purposes the forms of a constitution, 
whatever they may be. 

But I was more especially led to dwell with some 
particularity on the political history of that country, 
because there we find the common root of her institu- 
tions and our own. It was from her experience that 
the founders of our governments learned the value of 
most of those maxims, which they sought to consecrate 
by our own fundamental laws. Her political struggles 
were the school in which they learned that wisdom 
which will make their fame imperishable; and, though 
in some things wiser than their teachers, they would 
have been the last to decry the value of the truths that 
they had learned there, because of the error with which 
they were mingled. 



144 

Their difficulty was to distinguish between those 
maxims of government, which had owed their value to 
peculiarities in the constitution of that country, not 
found in our own, and those which are of universal 
application. It was a task of equal delicacy and im- 
portance, to decide how far any difference in the forms 
of government would make it safe to dispense with 
safeguards which, at first, might seem superfluous with 
us. A mistake in either particular might be attended 
with all the consequences of a dangerous security; and 
I shall probably have occasion to show you that some 
few mistakes of both sorts are made. We shall see, 
too, that, in the administration of our constitutions by 
those, on whom, in later times, that task has devolved, 
some of these errors have been carried to a more dan- 
gerous length; and we may sometimes find that bul- 
warks erected against imaginary dangers, have served 
as screens, behind which the most formidable mischiefs 
have crept on us unperceived. It may aid us in our 
enquiries into these topics, to dwell a little longer on 
the political affairs of our parent country; to look into 
what has been lately done, and is now doing there; and 
to enquire how far that primitive constitution, which so 
long moulded itself to all the exigencies of society, is 
capable of such farther modifications, as present and 
future circumstances may make necessary. 

There is nothing good under the sun. Everything 
but evil carries in it the seeds of its own destruction. 
That alone can be trusted to perpetuate itself. That 
alone, left to itself, remains unchanged; while, in every 
blessing that we enjoy, there is a something to enervate, 
to corrupt, or to lull into fatal security. The Spirit of 
God itself is a dangerous gift to those who do not hold 
it in watchfulness and prayer against temptation. How 
then can we hope to find, in any form of government, 
an unmixed good, sufficient to itself? The proper end 
of all government is security in the enjoyment of every 
right. This is the true idea of liberty. The restraints 
which are necessary to prevent wrong, are therefore 
essential to the very existence of liberty; and freedom 
becomes her own destroyer, when possessed by those 



145 

who are impatient of these restraints. But is this 
equally true of all rights ? Of rights conventional as 
well as natural ? Of the rights of property as well as 
the rights of personal security and liberty? A few 
remarks on this subject must be made somewhere, and 
it may be as well to offer them here. 

The equal rights of all men and their equal right at 
first to equal things, form the foundation of the even- 
tual inequalities of property, and their equal rights to 
things unequal. The rights of personal freedom of 
action, and of personal security, are inappreciable. 
But beyond these, liberty itself is only valuable as it 
permits the pursuit and secures the enjoyment of pro- 
perty. Property thus becomes the measure of the value 
of liberty, so far as it can be estimated by any stand- 
ard; and few would value it at a higher price than the 
immense wealth often accumulated in a single lifetime 
by men who have but been left to pursue their fortunes, 
each in his own way. How many Esaus might have 
been tempted to sell their birth-right for sums which 
Stephen Girard would not have missed from wealth 
accumulated in a land of strangers, where he enjoyed 
no franchises, and for which he was indebted entirely 
to the free exercise of his own personal faculties ? To 
those who are accustomed to speak of liberty as an 
abstraction, or as a sort of imaginary divinity, to be 
rather worshipped than enjoyed, these ideas may savour 
of paradox. Yet their truth is susceptible of the most 
rigid demonstration. 

If the question be asked, "what is freedom?" and 
the case to be supposed is that of a single insulated 
individual, alone and disconnected from all his species, 
the answer is simple enough. It is nothing short of 
unqualified license to do whatsoever may seem good in 
his own eyes. But give him a single companion, and 
the case is changed. The most perfect liberty to both 
of which both are capable, implies, of necessity, some 
restraint on both. Each may presently set his heart on 
doing something which may conflict with the equal right 
of the other to do as he pleases. Which shall give 
way? Equality says "both, or neither." But one 
13 



146 

must, and therefore both must. Here, then, is at once 
a limitation on freedom imposed by equality. 

Equality having thus decreed that both must submit 
to some curtailment of liberty, it remains for equality 
to draw the line of demarcation between them. In 
many supposable cases, it is easy to do this. But will 
the boundary remain unchangeably the same ? Fortune 
or convention may make a difference in their acquisi- 
tions; and the enjoyment of these makes it indispensa- 
ble that some things shall be lawful to one and not 
lawful to the other. While the deer runs at large, 
each is equally free to appropriate him. When one 
has caught it, the right of the other to meddle with it 
is gone. To decide otherwise, is to give one a pro- 
perty in the other's labour. But this surely equality 
will not allow. 

At first, each pursues his prey, and kills and feasts 
on it. As long as both are diligent and both success- 
ful, all is well. But to-day I am fortunate, and my 
companion fails from sloth, disease, or ill luck. I 
share with him on the faith of a promise that he will 
remunerate me when he is more successful. To-mor- 
row I hunt for myself alone, while he hunts for me as 
well as himself. What has now become of the equality 
of our rights ? Has it perished in the using ? Has the 
very practice of the principle of equality destroyed it ? 

A succession of unequal fortune may increase my 
advantage until it becomes onerous to him. But, on 
the principle of equality, he cannot shake off' the bur- 
then. If he refuses to fulfil his promise to remunerate 
me, that refusal has relation back to the relief afforded 
him, and turns the receipt of a benefit into an act of 
robbery. It is the same as if, when our rights were 
equal, he had invaded mine, and taken from me by 
force that which he obtained by a promise he now 
refuses to perform. We must acquiesce, therefore, in 
this consequential inequality, or the equality with which 
we set out will prove illusory and of no value. 

By-and-bye, this inequality advances to a point at 
which I have no need to hunt. I have something in 
store, and my companion is pledged to furnish an addi- 



147 

tional supply. I find time for other occupations. I 
build a shelter from the weather. Am I bound to share 
this with him ? Equality, again denying him any right 
to my labour, decides this point against him. He must 
purchase it; and he agrees to pay me for the use of it, 
as a place of security and comfort, by farther supplies 
of food. Thus our primitive equality, acting out its 
principles, seats me at my ease under a dry roof, while 
he, through all the inclemencies of a wintry sky, is 
seeking food for both of us. 

Now here are two aspects of equality; and he who is 
zealous for it in the beginning, should be equally zeal- 
ous for the ultimate result, which is its appropriate fruit. 
The excess of my acquired rights is the measure of 
what the principle of equality has been worth to me. 
To deprive me of these is retro-actively to deprive me 
of that: to admit my right to the tree, but deny me the 
fruit. Hence it follows that a respect for the principle 
of equality demands that the inequalities that grow out 
of it must be respected and defended. 

It is quite superfluous to speculate on the probability 
of such results as I have supposed, or the extent to 
which inequalities of property may be carried by the 
natural course of events. Compare the condition of 
J. J. Astor with that of thousands who began life with 
advantages equal to his, and you will have before you 
a much more striking example of the inequalities which, 
in a single life, may grow out of an undeviating regard 
to the principle of equality. The history of the world 
is full of proof that there is no limit to them but that 
which necessity imposes — necessity which predomi- 
nates over all conventions, general and particular. 
When a man is already bound to all that he can per- 
form, his liabilities can be carried no farther. This is 
the only limit that bounds the legitimate rights that 
perfect liberty and perfect equality may, and do, in the 
end, give to one over the property and services of 
another. 

If the ideas I have suggested were not thus vindi- 
cated by the experience and the practice of all the 
world, they might be denounced as specious sophisms. 



148 

It might be deemed enough to answer them by repeat- 
ing the very fallacies they are meant to expose. But 
all history and experience sanction them. Did the 
time permit, it would not be difficult to show, that, in 
proportion as government faithfully accomplishes its 
proper end in the protection of all the rights of all men, 
in all conditions, just in that proportion is the advance 
toward this state of inequality more sure, more unin- 
terrupted, and more rapid. 

The proper end of all government, then, is security 
in the enjoyment of every right. But men fearlessly 
encounter all the perils of hazardous enterprise, when 
assured of the peaceable enjoyment of the fruits of suc- 
cess. Freedom is therefore the nurse of enterprise, 
and enterprise is the mother of prosperity. But enter- 
prise is not always successful, and the profits of suc- 
cessful adventure are always proportioned to the danger 
of failure. The success of one and the failure of an- 
other produce inequality in the conditions of men, and 
this inequality is the necessary growth of political secu- 
rity and freedom. The more you have of freedom and 
equality, the more you will have of enterprise, which is 
always gainful to those who succeed in proportion as it 
is hazardous and ruinous to those who fail. Success 
encourages further enterprise, supplies the means of 
guarding against failure, and teaches their application. 
Failure disables enterprise, yet provokes to new and 
desperate adventure. Hence inequality goes on to 
increase. 

Success, in the ordinary business of life, is common; 
failure is rare, and profits are therefore moderate. But 
in more gainful and hazardous pursuits, (and gainful 
because they are hazardous,) success is for the few — 
failure for the many. Hence the very poor become 
daily more and more numerous, and the number of the 
rich is daily, in proportion, smaller and smaller, while 
the maximum of wealth steadily advances to a higher, 
and yet a higher point. This state of things is the 
natural growth of freedom. Is it favourable to the 
preservation of freedom ? Let us seek a practical an- 
swer to the question by observing the change in the 



149 

condition of society effected by the adoption of pure 
principles of government, and the manner in which 
society, thus changed, reacts upon the government 
itself. England affords illustration on both points. 

For some centuries all rights, and especially those 
of property, have been more respected there than in 
any other European kingdom. The struggles which 
took place about the middle of the seventeenth century 
turned on the claim of the king to tax the people with- 
out their consent, and in the triumph then achieved by 
them the principles of the inviolable sanctity of pro- 
perty was consecrated anew in that country, about the 
time that it was becoming obsolete on the continent. 
The recollection of that contest was fresh in the minds 
of men when William of Orange was called to the 
throne, and the recognition of that and other essential 
lights was made one of the conditions of his accession. 
From that time therefore to the present day, enterprise 
has had as free scope and as much encouragement in 
England, and has enjoyed the profits of its adven- 
tures in as much security as anywhere on earth. The 
result has manifested itself in advances in w r ealth, in 
art, in science, in literature, in manners and refine- 
ment, and in the elevation of the standard of comfort, 
before without example. 

These advantages, as I have just shown you, are 
necessarily attended by great and increasing inequality 
in the distribution of property. This it was that dis- 
closed the necessity of some constitutional safeguard 
for the rights of property, of which I have already 
spoken, showing you how the decayed boroughs were 
used for that purpose. Under this constitutional shelter 
accordingly, the process of accumulation was carried 
on, with a feeling of perfect security, until it reached 
a point which might well awaken envy and excite 
rapacity. Things were rapidly approaching to that 
state when the American revolution gave rise to new 
trains of thought in the minds of Europeans. Up to 
that time it seemed to have been supposed that the 
present enjoyment of personal rights was enough to 
satisfy the most jealous love of freedom. But men 



150 

then began to think more of the tenure by which they 
were held, and to require that this enjoyment should 
be fortified by such a political constitution as should 
insure it against invasion. The happiness of man de- 
pends, indeed, immediately on rights which are merely 
personal; but the security of these, a sense of which is 
also necessary to happiness, depends on the political 
right to be consulted about the laws under which he is 
to live. Without this, his present advantages may be 
held only by sufferance, and may be not less precarious 
than the welfare of a people whose happiness depends 
on the life of a wise and benevolent despot. It is vain 
to tell a man that his rights are secure under trial by 
jury, and the writ of habeas corpus, and the law which 
forbids his property to be taken without his consent, 
when once it has occurred to him that all these laws 
may be repealed in spite of him, and without allowing 
him any voice in deciding upon their repeal. When 
once this thought has entered the mind, gratitude to the 
power, which has been graciously pleased to exercise 
itself in the dispensation of good laws, is presently lost 
sight of, in the fear, that, in some caprice,- it may enact 
others of a very different character. The very enjoy- 
ment of present advantages, requires some security for 
their continuance, in which the heart may rest in tran- 
quillity. It has been speciously said that all the poli- 
tical rights of man resolve themselves into a right to 
good government. But is it therefore enough that the 
advantages of good government are dispensed to him 
as matter of favour merely? Must they not be recog- 
nised as his right too; and must not that right be se- 
cured to him by some provision which affords assurance 
that it will not be invaded ? If so, such constitutional 
provisions become to him objects of political right; and 
it is obvious, that none can answer that purpose so well, 
as a right to be consulted about all measures, by the 
operation of which his personal rights may be affected. 
What more natural then, than that all those consti- 
tutional limitations on the political rights of some, de- 
vised for the protection of the acquired rights of others, 
should seem odious to those on whom they were im- 



151 

posed ? If unconscious in themselves of any disposi- 
tion to invade these acquired rights, however unequal, 
such restraints would appear useless and absurd, unless 
intended for some evil purpose. Hence no sooner had 
the experiment of representative government in Ame- 
rica made the people of England familiar with the 
theory of equal political rights, than they began to 
cavil at every thing in their own constitution that 
seemed at variance with it. To such cavils nothing 
seemed more obnoxious than the unequal representa- 
tion of the decayed boroughs. It would never do to 
explain the matter to the people, by saying "these 
things are done to prevent you from taking what does 
not belong to you, and glutting your rapacity with the 
honest earnings of men more judicious, more indus- 
trions, more enterprising, or more fortunate than your- 
selves." Whatever were the wisdom of such precau- 
tions, there could be none in thus explaining them. It 
was far better to hear in silence the sneers and argu- 
ments of Paine and Burgh, and other writers of that 
school; and to rest in the assurance that so long as the 
people felt no actual grievances, they would not peril 
their own happiness on a quarrel with the theoretical 
defects of their government. 

But the time was at hand when the people were to 
feel grievances, and grievances the more intolerable 
from contrast with the increasing advantages of the 
more favoured classes, and resulting from those very 
advancements in all the arts of life which seemed to 
promise to all, a participation in many comforts before 
enjoyed by a limited number. To explain this, let me 
lay before you some general and some particular facts. 

You are aware that the history of the world affords 
no parallel to the advance of Great Britain in wealth, 
and in all the elements of prosperity, during the present 
century. Considered as the mart of the whole earth, 
the advantages afforded to her commercial enterprise 
by an uninterrupted peace of twenty-four years, are 
alone incalculable. But when we add to this the aids 
furnished by art and science in producing almost all 
the necessaries, comforts, elegancies and luxuries of 



152 

life, which her wealth, and intelligence, and commerce 
enabled her at once to seize upon and make her own, 
we shall find little cause to wonder that the standard 
of moderate competency at this day, far exceeds the 
measure of what forty years ago was reckoned most 
enviable wealth. In the middle of the last century an 
estate of ^63000 per annum, made a clownish country 
squire an object of flattering attention to earls and 
dukes. At this day, the noble possession of ten times 
the amount is elbowed aside by commoners. Then the 
task of those who ministered to the wishes of the great 
was to provide the comforts and luxuries and elegan- 
cies of life. Now the ingenuity and skill of the 
artisan is tasked to devise costly toys and fooleries, 
on which superfluous wealth may lavish itself, to pur- 
chase for the possessor a mark of distinction from those 
who are not quite rich enough to have money to throw 
away. Nor is there any thing in this sudden growth of 
prosperity to astonish us. Labour is the great source 
of wealth; and art and science have placed at the com- 
mand of the English people a labour equal to that of 
all the hands of all the inhabitants of the earth. Had 
fortune made her the mistress of the globe, and brought 
into her ports, without money and without price, all 
the fruits of all the labour of the whole human race, as 
it was a century ago, she might have been relatively 
richer than she is; but absolutely, not at all so. By a 
power, which then had not been brought into use, she 
is now furnished at home, with what is more than 
equivalent in value to all that the earth then produced, 
and which thus enables her to appropriate all that can 
be supplied from abroad, without at all abating her 
consumption of what is produced at home. 

What should be the condition of a people of whom 
these things can be affirmed ? Can poverty be known 
among them, except in instances so rare as to excite 
universal wonder, and to command universal sympathy 
and aid ? Can want have place in such a community ? 
In such universal abundance of all that is desirable, 
is it not to be feared that man. as in another para- 
dise of unpurchased bliss, would forget his depen- 
dence on his maker, and fancy himself sufficient for 



153 

himselfin all things? It would not be wonderful if to 
the inexperienced and unthinking, it should seem im- 
possible that any one should ever feel the pressure of 
actual want. Yet comparison will show the fallacy of 
such a conclusion, and prove, most clearly, that in such 
a state of overflowing prosperity, poverty is most 
deeply, most extensively, and most hopelessly felt. 
Let us make this comparison. 

In other countries, and in that country formerly, we 
have distressing pictures of the inequality of fortune, 
and the hard condition of the lower classes. Take, for 
example, the following sketch of the state of the pea- 
santry in one of the agricultural provinces of France, 
where modern inventions and improvements had not as 
yet lent their aid to ameliorate the condition of so- 
ciety. 

"Farms are small. Their average size does not ex- 
ceed fourteen acres. Some are as small as two acres. 
There are many of from four to eight. The farmers 
are poor, and live miserably; yet, their wants being 
few, and easily satisfied, they are comparatively happy. 
Their food consists of barley-bread, butter, buckwheat 
(made into pudding porridge, what we call mush and 
gruel,) and cakes, soup composed of cabbage- water, a 
little grease or butter, and salt, poured on bread, pota- 
toes — meat twice a week (always salt pork). A family 
of twelve, including servants and children, consumes 
annually about 700 pounds of pork, and 100 pounds of 
cow-beef; the latter only on festivals. 

"The class of daily labourers is almost unknown. 
The inmates of each farm, consisting of the farmer's 
family, and one, two or three male, and as many female 
servants, (according to the size of the farm,) paid an- 
nual wages, and who live with the family, suffice for the 
general work. At harvest some additional hands are 
employed. These are generally persons who work two 
or three months in the year, and beg during the re- 
mainder. Daily labourers and beggars may, therefore, 
in the country, be classed under the same head. The 
conditions of the poorer farmers, daily labourers, and 
beggars, are so near akin, that the passage from one 



154 

state to the other is very frequent." (Senior on the 
condition of the labouring classes in Europe.) 

In this sketch we have a picture of the state of so- 
ciety which yet lingers in some of those parts of Eu- 
rope, which have least felt the influence of modern 
improvements. We have no statistics from which we 
can draw very accurate information of the general condi- 
tion of the poorer classes in other countries, less than 
a century ago; but making allowances for the sterility 
of the particular district to which this statement be- 
longs, we may believe it to present a tolerably just idea 
of their circumstances everywhere at that time. Of 
this we learn more from writers of romance and poetry 
than from any other source. The testimony of such 
men as Fielding and Smollet is perhaps more worthy 
of credit, than much which is given on oath. Gold- 
smith is heard to lament the time "when every rood of 
ground maintained its man." In the poems of Crabbe, 
written about the beginning of this century, we have 
innumerable pictures taken from the life, by one who 
has been well designated as "nature's sternest painter 
and her best." These clearly indicate a condition of 
society very near akin to that exhibited in the foregoing 
extract. 

While, in contrast with this general state of poverty, 
there prevailed among all the higher classes an enviable 
degree of affluence, accompanied with a taste for osten- 
tatious display, by no means conciliating to the feelings 
of the poor, we may see how the friends of law and 
order and security to all the rights of men in all condi- 
tions, may have doubted the wisdom of allowing to all 
an equal voice in the management of affairs. So long 
too as the sufferings of the poorer classes were such as 
could be borne, it is not strange that they submitted 
also to their political disqualifications. The laws of 
meum and tuum are never questioned but by men 
driven to frenzy by distress. It is so easy to show 
that the same maxims which consecrate the possessions 
of the wealthy, are equally necessary to the safety of 
the poor, that the latter cherish them for their own 
sake; not only as long as they have any thing to lose, 






155 

but as long as they have any thing to hope. They look 
indeed with envy on advantages which they can never 
expect to share, but this passion finds its objects in the 
substantial blessings of house and home, and food and 
raiment, with the accompaniments of horses, carriages, 
servants, furniture, and all the etceteras with which the 
rich are accustomed to surround, and even to burthen 
themselves. Beyond these, the poor man never looks, 
nor does he bestow a thought on the rank and privileges 
of aristocracy, nor trouble himself by what authority 
the laws are made, until the progressive inequality of 
conditions, giving all to others, and leaving nothing in 
possession, or in prospect, to him, makes the very name 
of law itself odious to him. The maxim of the equal 
rights of all men, then acquires a new value in his esti- 
mation. It recommends itself by its tarseness and sim- 
plicity, and he is ready to adopt it as his whole political 
creed. It is vain now to tell him that all men indeed 
have equal rights, but to unequal tilings. So long as 
he himself had any thing, he was well enough disposed 
to accept this modification of the proposition. But 
when matters arrive at that pass that this qualification 
secures to others the possession of every thing, and 
leaves nothing to him, from that moment all respect for 
the laws of property passes from his mind. From that 
moment they become odious in his sight, and the go- 
vernment which establishes and maintains them, (what- 
ever be its form,) is odious too. He soon learns to take 
exceptions to its structure, and its actions. He asks 
why power is placed here and not there, and demands 
a reason not only for all that is done, but an account of 
the authority by which it is done. Everything incon- 
gruous in the system is derided as absurd, and all that 
is at variance with his own favourite maxim is de- 
nounced as unjust, oppressive, and wicked. 

All this time his quarrel is not in truth with the 
forms of government, or the particular character of its 
laws. He is unconsciously at war with all government 
and all laws which protect the rights of property. He 
would not give a straw (if he had one) to choose be- 
tween the existing government, whatever that may be, 



156 

and any imaginable form which should leave him poor, 
destitute, and abject as he must be, so long as the same 
allotment of property remains, which assigns all to 
others, and to him nothing at all. 

Now you will perceive that in the sketch given in 
the extract which I have just read, there is exhibited a 
condition low and humble, and cheerless enough, but 
yet one to which use may familiarize so far as to render 
it quite tolerable. "The wants of the peasant," says 
the writer, "being few and easily satisfied, he is com- 
paratively happy." So long as this is so, the experi- 
ence of the world tells us, that he will never be curi- 
ous to look into the mechanism of government, or permit 
himself to question the title of the rich to their abound- 
ing superfluity. He is much more afraid that they will 
question and invade his right to the small modicum of 
property that he enjoys. His weakness makes the pro- 
tection of the law more precious to him than to them; 
the less he has, the less are his means of defending 
himself from extortion and rapacity; and his sense of 
the value of the security which the law affords to pro- 
perty increases as he sinks lower and lower in the scale 
of fortune, until he reaches that point beyond which 
there is no farther fall. Then all is changed, and his 
spirit reacts, and mounts up with a recoil, energetic in 
proportion to the depth of his abasement. 

I am by no means sure, therefore, that those political 
privileges which have been devised for the security of 
the rights of property, have all the value that has been 
ascribed to them. That they are effectual to some pur- 
poses, so long as they continue, is certain. They may 
save the rich from being made to bear more than their 
due share of public burthens. They may secure re- 
spect for the obligation of all engagements, and provide 
a proper code of remedies for all rights. But when the 
final struggle comes between numbers and property, 
between those who have nothing and those who have 
everything; between the many who are perishing for 
want of that which others wantonly destroy, and the 
few who thus destroy it, I am not sure that they will 
not be found utterly inefficacious. So long as there is 



157 

no disposition to invade the rights they are meant to 
guard, they are respected. But so soon as this dispo- 
sition is awakened by utter destitution and intolerable 
distress, pervading that great multitude which forms 
the lowest class in all societies, what then are the po- 
litical privileges intended to stand as bulwarks between 
the famishing around, and the food that tempts them to 
the assault? What are they, but straw and stubble to 
feed the flame they were intended to an est? 

This is a question on which the statesmen of Europe 
have long pondered, and of late in fear and trembling. 
They have felt the necessity of staving off as long as 
possible that evii hour, when men perishing for want of 
the absolute necessaries of life, and driven to frenzy by 
the cries of their famishing children, may ask, in tones 
of desperation, whether there be any law, divine or 
human, which can rightfully condemn them to perish 
for want of superfluities lavishly wasted by others. 
This it is which has given rise to poor laws; and to 
those anxious discussions provoked by the suggestion, 
that such laws do but tend to aggravate the mischief 
they were intended to avert. This it is which has 
made benevolence so active in devising means to relieve 
the distresses of the poor, and to eke out their scanty 
sources of subsistence and comfort. This it is which 
has given so much interest to all the discoveries of sci- 
ence, and the inventions of art which seemed to pro- 
mise that the prime necessities of life might be supplied 
at a cheaper rate. The philosopher exercises his inge- 
nuity in devising contrivances for the economy of fuel; 
he turns cook, and invents a digester to make soup of 
bones; he tasks all the resources of his art to improve 
the fertility and increase the products of the soil. 
Was it to be believed that all these would be ineffec- 
tual; and that all the discoveries, by which the produc- 
tion of most of the necessaries, and all the comforts of 
life, was indefinitely facilitated and multiplied, would 
afford no relief to those, who suffer from the want of 
all these things. 

Such has been the fact. It belongs to the political 
economist to explain how this happens, and how it is 
14 



158 

that so many specious devices for improving the condi- 
tion of the poor, do but end in the multiplication of the 
sufferers, and the aggravation of their miseries. All 
such inventions disclose new sources of profit, invite 
to new enterprises, which are attended sometimes with 
incalculable gains, sometimes with irreparable loss. 
Such consequences do not so suddenly attend the regu- 
lar cultivation of the soil according to long established 
methods of husbandry. By that process none become 
very rich and few abjectly poor; because there is no 
risk to occasion great losses, nor to give rise to high 
profits as the reward of success. There is certainty 
nothing very gratifying to the lover of romance, or to 
the political economist, in the dull round of proedial 
labours attended with such results as are exhibited in 
the extract I have read. But there is nothing there to 
shock humanity, to drive the labourer to desperation, 
or to alarm the statesman's fears for the stability of 
government. Poverty, in that degree, humbles and 
subdues the mind. Carried beyond that point, it exas- 
perates and embitters. As long as the labourer can 
earn food and raiment by his toil, he never dreams that 
he has a right to anything else. But when his utmost 
exertions leave him to suffer for want of necessaries, he 
then, for the first time, thinks of claiming something 
more. To these he knows he has a right. He cannot 
look upon the pale face of a hungry wife, and hear the 
cries of famishing children, without feeling that he is 
wronged. He measures his wrong by his sufferings, 
and by the value of his labour to him who is enriched 
by it; and the redress he claims is proportioned to these 
standards. 

In my next lecture I propose to show you something 
of the extent to which this mischief has been carried 
with the aid of the wonderful discoveries of science, 
and the ingenious inventions of art which distinguish 
the present century. I*shall endeavour afterwards to 
show how these consequences react upon government, 
and how the insolence of wealth itself works in combi- 
nation with the distresses and impatience of the poor 
to discredit those constitutional safeguards which had 



159 

been provided for its defence. I expect to show that 
no improvement in the structure, or the action, of go- 
vernment, can avert the doom which such a state of 
things portends: that it has in truth resulted, not from 
what was evil, but from what was good, in government 
itself: that there is no remedy but in such a voluntary 
relinquishment of some of the advantages of wealth as 
the possessors can hardly be expected to have either 
the wisdom or the magnanimity to resort to, or in the 
total overthrow, not only of the fabric of government, 
but of all the rights of property, and of the whole frame 
of society. 

But long as I have detained you, gentlemen, I can- 
not, even now, dismiss this subject without suggesting 
an application of it to ourselves and our own affairs. 
In this country there are few who have not some idea 
of the prodigious inequalities of property which prevail 
in England, and the. consequent distresses of the poor. 
We are in the habit of saying that these things concern 
us not; that they result from the faults of that govern- 
ment; and that we who have no king or lords, or arti- 
ficial representation, but a president and congress duly 
and freely elected by the people, have nothing of the 
sort to fear. Now I put it to your candour to decide, 
in view of all that I have said, whether these mischiefs 
are not in truth produced by the absence of those faults 
in the action of government, which we are in the habit 
of imputing to the authority of kings and lords ? They 
have arisen, not because the people have been illy go- 
verned, but because, in all that relates to the rights of 
property, they have been well governed. It is not to 
the privileged orders that these advantages have ac- 
crued. It is wealth which has forced its way into the 
privileged orders in spite of the aristocracy. The late 
viceroy of Canada was a commoner ennobled by his 
wealth. The man who made a common strumpet his 
wife, and then left her a fortune, which made her the 
wife of a duke, was an obscure commoner, the author of 
his own fortunes.* And why was this, but that the 

* The brother of this man (Coutts the banker) lived and died 



160 

rights of all men alike were protected, and the rewards 
of enterprise alike sure to the low as to the high ? 

I beseech you, then, lay not to your souls the flat- 
tering thought, that we are to be exempt from these 
evils, because of differences between the English con- 
stitution and our own, which can only make the event 
more sure. If we are more free than they, if all the 
careers of enterprise are even more open to all here 
than in England, if the profits of success are yet more 
faithfully secured and guarded by our laws than by 
hers, and if, as is certainly true, the objects on which 
enterprise may exert itself are even more various and 
more lucrative, how shall we hope to escape results, 
similar, or yet more alarming. 

Among ourselves in this state, as yet we see nothing 
of these things. But are we not taught to look at this 
very condition of society, as the summum bonum; are 
we not eagerly straining every nerve to attain to it; and 
are we not sneeringly and tauntingly reproached with 
our folly in clinging to that one peculiarity in our do- 
mestic institutions, which retards our advance in the 
fatal career of improvement that ends in splendid vice, 
and abject misery, and a contempt of moral obligation 
in the rich, and of the laws of property in the poor, 
and that final dissolution of all order in which the 
passions of all are let loose to avenge on each other the 
insulted majesty of the laws of God, and the abused 
bounties of his providence? 

Against these tremendous results, we have in our 
society a security (I allude to domestic slavery) which 

in Virginia. He was a man remarkable for strength of mind, 
shrewdness, wit, profanity and debauchery. He was well known 
about this place, and, in my boyhood, many amusing anecdotes 
of him were current here. When on his death-bed, his friend 
Col. Byrd of Westover, was also very ill, and sent him word to 
wait for him, that they might travel to the other world together. 
The message found him at the last gasp, and his answer was in 
these words: " Tell William Byrd that Patrick Coutts is Patrick 
Coutts on his own bottom, and he'll wait for no man." These 
were his last words. They have passed into a proverb among 
us. A man who means playfully to boast his independence says, 
"I am Patrick Coutts." 



161 

may save us, at least £or a time. Meanwhile we may 
have an opportunity of learning wisdom from the ex- 
ample and fate of those who, spurning every counsel, 
contemning every danger, and triumphing over every 
obstacle, are pressing forward to this splendid but awful 
consummation. Let us mark the end, nor tread too 
close upon their heels. 



LECTURE X. 

In my last lecture, I announced my intention to 
enter, at this time, upon an examination of the actual 
results attending the long continued reign of law and 
order, accompanied, as it always is, by enterprise, ac- 
tivity, and diligence, guided and aided in their opera- 
tions by the discoveries of science, and the inventions 
of art. We might find examples of this sort in an- 
cient history, and, in default of a better instructor, we 
might learn much from the fate of Athens and Rome. 
As it is, I shall but so far advert to them, as to remind 
you, how far Athens, from her commercial position, 
outstripped the other states of Greece in her advances 
in wealth, and elegance, and refinement, and art, and 
sciences, and also in those vices which terminated in 
her oivn destruction. In glancing over the history of 
Rome, too, you will see, that it was only when she 
arrived at that point in the progress of society that 
made her as much the envy of the whole earth for all 
that adorns life, as she had before been the admiration 
of the world for her noble deeds and glorious achieve- 
ments, that she fell under the dominion of passions 
which rendered her incapable of freedom. When, in 
the midst of luxury and splendour, the multitude were 
heard to cry for bread, the demagogue who should pro- 
pose to empty the treasury in largesses to the poor, 
could never be in want of devoted partizans. "When 
that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:" and, what- 
14* 



162 

ever Antony might say to the co^rary, such is the very 
stuff that ambition is made of. 

But it is needless to dwell on these examples. We 
can have no occasion to explore the dark and dusty 
receptacles of buried empires, to detect the causes of 
their decay and destruction, when we have before us a 
body of living death, an animated anatomy, in which 
the fatal cause is palpable to the senses, and the ad- 
vance of its ravages is made manifest to the eye. 

Without farther preface, I shall proceed to lay be- 
fore you some facts, from which I expect to deduce 
conclusions that cannot fail to command your assent. 

For some years past, two objects have very much 
occupied the attention of the government of England. 
I mean the condition of the poor generally, and that of 
the labourers employed in those vast manufacturing 
establishments to which England owes so much of her 
wealth and power. Feeling the importance of action 
on these subjects, her rulers also felt that it was neces- 
sary to act understanding^ that they might act bene- 
ficially. They have, therefore, at different times, con- 
stituted commissions of enquiry to examine into such 
particulars as, by laying bare the root of the evil, might 
indicate the remedy. These commissions have acted 
with praiseworthy diligence, and their reports embody 
a mass of authentic evidence entitled to all respect and 
confidence. The state of things which this evidence 
discloses, I might lay before you, by summing up its 
results in my own words. But to do justice to the 
original, my picture would necessarily be so highly 
coloured, that you would doubt its accuracy. I should 
be obliged to use language so often prostituted in the 
service of falsehood, that it has become unfit to be the 
vehicle of truth; and I might seem to wish to deceive 
and lead you astray by exaggerated description and 
extravagant declamation. I shall therefore lay before 
you, in the language of the witnesses themselves, some 
of the facts which their testimony discloses. 

In the year 1816, Sir Robert Peel procured a com- 
mittee of the house of commons to examine into the 
expediency of a bill to regulate the labour of children 



163 

working in factories. Before that committee, Sir Robert 
Peel himself, in his evidence, made the following state- 
ments: 

"Large buildings are now erected, not as formerly 
on the banks of streams, but in the midst of populous 
towns, in which the children of the surrounding poor 
are employed, and these children, even of the tender 
age of seven years, and, in some cases, even younger, 
are kept at work for thirteen or fourteen hours per day. 
Such indiscriminate and unlimited employment of the 
poor, consisting of a great proportion of the inhabitants 
of the trading districts, is attended with effects not to 
be contemplated without dismay; and thus that great 
effort of British ingenuity, whereby the machinery of 
manufactures was brought to such perfection, instead 
of being a blessing to the nation, is converted into the 
bitterest curse. In all my visits to the factories, I have 
been struck with the uniform appearance of bad health, 
and, in many cases, with the stinted growth of the chil- 
dren. The hours of labour were regulated by the in- 
terests of the overseer, whose remuneration was regu- 
lated by the quantity of work done." 

This general statement is followed by many details 
which led to measures of relief, some of which were 
impracticable, and some evaded; and this again led to 
new and repeated enquiries. Of all these enquiries 
the result is essentially the same, in spite of all that 
legislation could effect, and therefore all the facts that 
I am about to lay before you may be considered alike 
as fair specimens of that which exists at this day.* A 

* Since this was written, much has been done to modify, and 
perhaps to mitigate the evils here described. If I were about to 
give a statistical account of the matter, it would be my duty to 
take my statements from the present condition of things. But 
for my purpose it is enough that such things have existed at any 
time. To the students of political philosophy the facts have the 
same value, whether contemplated at the time of their existence 
or afterwards. If the evil has been mitigated, (and I hope it has,) 
it is because the wise and able men, at present at the head of 
affairs, have seen it in its true character. I have already inti- 
mated that no remedy could be found unless the possessors of 
wealth should bring themselves to relinquish voluntarily some 



164 

few extracts from the testimony will give you some 
idea of the effects of a degree of labour, of which our 
experience gives us none. 

An unfortunate child describes herself as "sick — 
tired — especially in the winter nights; feels so tired, 
she throws herself down, when she gets home, not 
caring what she does. She looks on the long hours as 
a great bondage; thinks they are not much better than 
the Israelites in Egypt, and their life is no pleasure to 
them." 

Another says, "the long standing gives her swelled 
feet and ankles, and fatigues her so much that some- 
times she does not know how to get to her bed." 

A witness says, "children at night are so fatigued 
that they are asleep often as soon as they sit down, so 
that it is impossible to awaken them to sense enough to 
wash themselves, or scarcely to eat a bit of supper, 
being so stupid with sleep." 

Another says, "The long hours exhaust the workers, 

of its advantages. The substitution of an income tax, from 
which small incomes are exempt, for a part of the imposts and 
excises which tax even the potato and salt of the poorest labourer, 
is of this sort. It is the first step towards a recognition of the 
principle that men should contribute to the exigencies of the state 
in proportion, not to their property, but to their superfluity: not 
in proportion to all they have, but in proportion to what they have 
to spare. On the principle of the British constitution, that taxes 
are a free gift, it is the most impudent of all legal fictions to 
pretend to believe that he who has nothing to spare, is consenting 
to give anything. He who has something to spare has no right 
to complain that his representative vouches for his consent to 
give what he ought, though in so doing he may give him more 
credit for liberality than he deserves. But when they, who call 
themselves the commons of England, take upon themselves to 
say that the poor man, who has nothing but a scanty meal of 
potatoes for his children, is consenting to give away a part of 
that to any object under heaven, they not only represent him 
falsely, but they insult his distress, and do him grievous wrong. 
Every impost, and every excise which enhances the cost of pro- 
duction of his wretched food, is a tax on him; and, to that ex- 
tent, they, who claim to speak on his behalf, represent him as 
giving freely. This principle, that taxes are the free gift of the 
people, has long been recognised as the corner-stone of English 
liberty. So far as that is a fiction, so far is English liberty a fic- 
tion too. 



165 

especially the young ones, to such a degree, that they 
can hardly walk home; they often cannot raise their 
hands to their head; and when engaged in their regular 
work are often exhausted beyond what can be ex- 
pressed." 

"I have known the children," says another, "hide 
themselves in the store among the wool, so that they 
should not go home, when the work was over, after 
having worked till ten or eleven. I have seen six or 
eight fetched out of the store and beat home. I do not 
know why they should hide themselves, unless it was 
that they were too tired to go home." 

One of the overseers says, "I always found it more 
difficult to keep my pieurs awake the last hours of a 
winter's evening. I have told the master, and have 
been told by him, that / did not half hide them. I 
have seen them fall asleep, and they have been per- 
forming their work with their hands, while they were 
asleep, after the engine had stopped, when their work 
was over. I have stopped and looked at them for two 
minutes* going through the motions of pieuring, when 
there was no work to do, and they were really doing 
nothing. I believe, when we have been working long- 
hours, that they have never been washed, but on Satur- 
day night, for weeks together." 

A more elaborate and extended statement, given by 
a medical witness, shows all the circumstances of the 
case, and will afford an idea of the compensation which 
is purchased by the toil of whole families down to chil- 
dren of seven years of age. "The population," says 
he, "employed in the cotton factories, rises at five in 
the morning, works in the mills till six or eight o'clock, 
and returns home for half an hour or forty minutes, to 
breakfast. This meal generally consists of tea or cof- 
fee, with a little bread. Oatmeal porridge is sometimes, 
but of late rarely, used, and chiefly by the men; but 
the stimulus of tea is preferred, and especially by the 
women, 'fne tea is almost always of a bad, and some-. 
times of a deleterious quality; the infusion is weak, and 
little or no milk is added. The operatives return to 



166 

the mill and work till 12 o'clock, when an hour is 
allowed for dinner. 

"Amongst those who obtain the lower rates of wages, 
this meal generally consists of boiled potatoes. The 
mess of potatoes is poured into one large dishj melted 
lard and butter are poured upon them, and a few pieces 
of fried fat bacon are sometimes added, and but seldom 
a little [fresh] meat. 

"Those who obtain better wages, or families whose 
aggregate income is larger, add a greater proportion of 
animal food to this meal, at least three times a week. 
But the quantity consumed by the labouring population 
is not great. The family sits round the table, and each 
rapidly appropriates his portion on a plate, or they all 
plunge their spoons into the dish, and, with an animal 
eagerness, satisfy the cravings of their appetite. At 
the expiration of the hour, they are all again employed 
in the workshops or mills, where they generally again 
indulge in the use of tea, often mingled with spirits, 
accompanied by a little bread. Oatmeal or potatoes 
are taken by some a second time in the evening. 

"The population nourished on this aliment is crowded 
into one dense mass in cottages, separated by narrow 
unpaved and almost pestilential streets, in an atmo- 
sphere loaded with smoke and the exhalations of a large 
manufacturing city. The operatives are congregated 
in rooms and work-shops during twelve hours of the 
day, in an enervating heated atmosphere, which is fre- 
quently loaded with dust or filaments of cotton, or im- 
pure from constant respiration, or from other causes. 
They are engaged in an employment which absorbs 
their attention, and unremittingly employs their physi- 
cal energies. They are drudges who watch the move- 
ments and assist the operations of a mighty material 
force which toils with an energy unconscious of fatigue. 
The persevering labour of the operative must rival the 
mathematical precision, the incessant motion, and the 
exhaustless power of the machine. 

"Prolonged and exhausting labour, continued from 
day to day, and from year to year, is not calculated to 
deveiope the intellectual or moral faculties of man. 



167 

The dull routine of a ceaseless drudgery, in which the 
same mechanical process is incessantly repeated, re- 
sembles the torment of Sisyphus. The toil, like the 
rock, recoils perpetually on the wearied operative. 
The mind gathers neither stores nor strength from the 
constant extension and retraction of the same muscles. 
The intellect slumbers in supine inertness; but the 
grosser parts of our nature acquire a rank development. 
To condemn man to such severity of toil is, in some 
measure, to cultivate in him the habits of an animal. 
He becomes reckless — he disregards the distinguishing 
appetites and habits of his species — he neglects the 
comforts and delicaties of life — he lives in squalid 
wretchedness, on meagre food, and expends his super- 
fluous gains in debauchery. 

"Hence, besides the negative results — the total ab- 
straction of every moral and intellectual stimulus — the 
absence of variety — banishment from the grateful air, 
and cheering influence of light, the physical energies 
are exhausted by incessant toil, and imperfect nutrition. 
Having been subjected to the prolonged labour of an 
animal — his physical energy wasted — his mind in supine 
inaction, the artizan has neither moral dignity, nor 
intellectual nor organic strength to resist the seductions 
of appetite. His wife and children, too frequently 
subjected to the same process, are unable to cheer his 
remaining moments of leisure. Domestic economy is 
neglected, domestic comforts are unknown. A meal of 
the coarsest food is prepared with heedless haste, and 
devoured with equal precipitation. Home has no other 
relation to him than that of shelter; few pleasures are 
there — it chiefly presents to him a scene of physical 
exhaustion, from which he is to glad to escape. Him- 
self impotent of the distinguishing aims of his species, 
he sinks into sensual sloth, or revels in more degrading 
licentiousness. His home is ill furnished, uncleanly, 
often ill ventilated, perhaps damp. His food, for want 
of forethought and domestic economy, is meagre and 
innutricious; he is debilitated and hypochondriacal, and 
falls the victim of dissipation." 

Another aspect of the case is yet more shocking to 



168 

the best feelings of the heart, and fills us with wonder 
that the wretched victims of bloated prosperity are not 
driven to frenzy and desperation. "In consequence," 
we are told, "of the mothers being employed from home, 
their children are intrusted, in a vast majority of cases, 
to the care of others, often of elderly females, who have 
no infant family of their own; and most of whom, hav- 
ing, in their youth, had their children attended to by 
others, have never formed those habits of attachment 
and assiduous attention to their offspring, which could 
alone afford a probability of a proper care of the chil- 
dren committed to their charge. These women often 
undertake the care of several infants at the same time; 
their habits are generally indolent and gossipping; the 
children are restless and irritable from being deprived 
of a supply of their natural food, (as, when the mothers 
suckle them, they can only do it in the intervals of 
labour,) and the almost universal practice among them 
is, to still the cries of the infant, by administering opi- 
ates, which are sold for this purpose under several well- 
known and popular forms. The quantity of opium, 
which, from habit, some children are capable of taking, 
is almost incredible, and the effects are correspondingly 
destructive. Even when the infants have a healthy 
appearance at birth, they almost uniformly become, in 
a few months, puny and sickly in their aspect, and a 
very large proportion fall victims to bronchitis, hydro- 
cephalus, and other diseases produced by the want of 
care and the pernicious habits here detailed." 

You have as yet had no experience of the workings 
of nature in a father's heart. But the mother's feelings 
make themselves understood by the child; and there is 
one at home whose wretchedness you can well appre- 
ciate, were she condemned to witness the lot of her 
own offspring, in the least unfavourable of the condi- 
tions described in these statements. You know, too, 
that there is one whose firmer nerves may feel these 
things less poignantly, but whose manly spirit would 
peril everything to redress the evil by which her life 
should be embittered. You know this; and you are 
ready to ask, "why are these things endured?" The 



169 

answer is, that hope is held out in the shape of plans 
for ameliorating the condition of those who labour in 
factories; that plan after plan is suggested bj those 
who love to be charitable and philanthropic at the ex- 
pense of others, and that commissions of investigation 
are constantly pressing their enquiries with a zeal that 
promises relief. But what has been done? What has 
been proposed? In short, what can be done by autho- 
rity of law? 

A moment's reflection may convince you that nothing 
can be done, but to prohibit the employment of chil- 
dren, and to shorten the hours of daily labour. They 
have accordingly gone so far as to emancipate from this 
horrid bondage all under the age of nine years, and to 
limit the hours of labour, I think, to twelve.* The 
first of these provisions can only be evaded by false- 
hood, and where both parties are agreed, we cannot 
doubt that this is often done. The other is more easily 
and innocently eluded. Nothing is necessary but to 
increase the speed of the mills, so as to produce in 
twelve hours the same amount of labour formerly done 
in fourteen or fifteen. Accordingly, among the testi- 
mony taken by the commissioners, I find evidence to 
this effect. In a particular branch of the work, in which 
children are always employed, it has been found that 
in trotting backwards and forwards to attend the mo- 
tions of the mill, they formerly travelled at the rate of 
twenty miles in twelve hours; whereas, at the rate at 
which the engines now move, they would go over 
twenty-five miles in the same time; thus accomplishing 
in twelve hours what was formerly the labour of fifteen. 

Now a moment's reflection will convince you, that 
if a reduction of the hours of labour in the factories 
could operate at all in favour of the labouring class, it 
must be on the principle that, by diminishing the amount 
of labour to be obtained from each, the sum of the whole 
would be diminished, and the supply be thus made less 

* Other changes have been since made or attempted. These, 
for the reason already given, I do not think it necessary to trace. 
15 



170 

in proportion to the demand. If this result should be 
so far accomplished as to enable the labourer to obtain 
the same wages as before for less work, this would be 
advantageous to him. But if the supply was still so 
great, as to enable the employer to dictate terms to the 
labourer, he must be content with wages in proportion 
to his work. It follows that before we can decide that 
this legislative interference is beneficial to him, we 
must first know whether he is in condition to bear this 
curtailment of his wages. If they were before only 
sufficient to afford a bare subsistence, we know that he 
could not bear it. The law, therefore, which limits his 
hours of labour, condemns him to starve, or to find 
means to do as much work in twelve hours, as he did 
before in fourteen. The speed of the machine is ac- 
cordingly increased with this view; and thus he travels 
on to the destiny that awaits him, by the same daily 
stages as before. Thishe does with his own consent, 
(extorted indeed by necessity,) and thus becomes a 
party to the evasion of the law intended for his pro- 
tection. 

These ideas suggest the only radical and effectual 
remedy. It is one which will never be applied by a 
government which respects the rights of property. But 
what may be done, if a change can be effected which 
will place all authority in the hands of this starving 
multitude, is quite a different question. Let the agra- 
rian spirit which such - a state of things inevitably ex- 
cites, get leave to act out its nature, and it would be 
easy to devise a remedy, though by no means sure that 
it would rest content with it. 

If it were from any cause impossible, (whether phy- 
sically or morally,) that any labourer should work more 
than one hour per day, the demand for labour would 
then so far exceed the supply, that the labourer would 
be in condition to dictate terms to his employer. He 
might force him to pay as much for the work of that 
one hour, as he now pays for the labour of twelve, or 
to give up his business. This last measure would be 
ruinous to both parties, and, as the employer could not 



171 

afford such wages, such a case is plainly not to be 
supposed. But there is a medium, which might be 
ascertained by repeated experiment. A curtailment 
might be fixed on, which would enable the labourer to 
demand for an amount of w r ork, not inconsistent with 
the enjoyment of life, what might enable him to receive 
a tolerably fair share of its necessaries and comforts, 
and what the employer could barely afford to give. 

The puzzle is, to reconcile such interference on the 
part of government, with the right of men to regulate 
their own contracts, and to make by their labour, or 
their capital, all that others are willing to allow, with 
our notions of liberty. This is plainly an exercise of 
arbitrary power, and a violation of the rights of person 
and property. Yet its advocates will be found among 
the most strenuous advocates of liberty: and they will 
be so far consistent, that the end, they propose to them- 
selves, is the same which first made liberty precious. 
When liberty has committed suicide, they who love 
her, must call in arbitrary power, to restore her to life 
2nd health.* 

As yet this thorough treatment of the disease is not 
in the contemplation of those who undertake to pre- 
scribe for it. What may be in the thoughts of others 
who now lie back, waiting the moment of efficient 
action, we can only conjecture. In the meantime it 
may be truly said, in the language of one of the re- 
ports, "that a steam-engine, in the hands of an inte- 
rested or avaricious master, is a relentless power to 
which, old and young are equally bound to submit. 
That tyrant power may, at any time, and without any 
effort, cripple or destroy thousands of human beings. 
Their position in these mills is that of thraldom: four- 
teen, fifteen, or sixteen hours per day, is exhausting to 
the strength of all; yet none dare quit the occupation 
from the dread of losing work altogether." 

One word more of testimony will show how this 



* What immediately follows may not be exactly true at this 
day. I think I have seen indications of an attempt, since this 
lecture was written, to work out this problem. 



172 

tyrant urges its victims to destruction, with the help 
of that sternest and most merciless of all task-mas- 
ters, necessity. You will see that the passage I am 
about to read has reference to a time antecedent to 
the curtailment of the working hours. But remem- 
ber that accelerated velocity in the mill has neu- 
tralized the effect of that. A poor girl of fourteen 
says of herself: "I have sometimes worked, and do 
now occasionally work, sixteen hours. They com- 
monly worked fourteen or fifteen hours through the 
whole winter, and got extra wages." (Generally a 
penny per hour.) "Worked all last night;" ('I found 
her working,' says the commissioner, 'at a quarter be- 
fore six;') "worked from a quarter before six yesterday 
morning; will work till six this evening; thirty-four 
hours, exclusive of two hours for meals; did this be- 
cause the hands were short, and I should get an addi- 
tional shilling. Have worked here two years; am now 
fourteen; work sixteen hours and a half a-day ;/<?/£ badly, 
and asked to stop, at eight, one night lately; was told 

if 1 did, I MUST NOT COME BACK." 

Others say, "they did not stop for meals; used to eat 
how they could; sometimes the breakfast would stand 
an hour and a half; sometimes we'd never touch it; 
sometimes I have brought mine out, and never touched 
it, because I had not time; took it as we could, a bite 
and a run; sometimes not able to eat it, from its being 
so covered with dust." 

But is there then no employment for labour but in 
these loathsome factories? Yes. The labourer has his 
choice, whether he will supply his family with as many 
potatoes, by the toil of himself and his wife, and as many 
of his children as can do any work, on the farm or in 
the factory. It is a matter of taste which he will prefer. 
Your masters in political economy will tell you that if 
either occupation was decidedly preferable to the other, 
the latter would be deserted, or the former overstocked, 
and reduced to the same standard of advantages and 
disadvantages. 

I have no statistics from which I can give you a view 
of the condition of prsedial labour in England. But 



173 

while, on the one hand, we know that it must bear a 
certain relation to that of labour in other occupations, 
we may also derive some light from a view of the actual 
condition of labourers employed in husbandry in the 
neighbouring kingdom of Ireland. Here we have in- 
formation of the same authentic character with that 
already laid before you, and obtained by the like inves- 
tigations. A few items of this I will now present, not 
only because it is favourable to my present purpose, 
but because it is yet more important in connection with 
a yet more important subject to be considered hereafter. 
"I have a wife and four children," says a labourer, 
"I hold three quarters of an acre of land, for which I 
pay £i, taken out in labour. This generally gives me 
and my family potatoes for five or six months in the year. 
1 get an occasional day's labour. I have often taken 3d. 
a day rather than set idle. My wife can earn a penny 
halfpenny on a day she is employed to spin; but if she 
is employed one day, she may not be employed again for 
a month. She has been sickly for the last seven years." 
(Mr. Lyons, the parish priest, says her complaint is one 
of those that are common there, arising from the na- 
ture of the food used by the poor, which, he says, is 
such, that if a person used to wholesome diet were 
reduced to subsist on it, he would not live a month.) 
"During the past summer I had not enough, nor anything 
like enough of potatoes, for myself and my family. It 
will be worse next summer. My potato crop has failed 
this year. The cause was that I had no proper seed. 
My crop used to last till May. Now I am bare in 
November. I have got a month's stock of potatoes. 
When these are gone, as I expect no employment, I do 
not know how we are to live afterwards, but go vpon 
God. My family never begged but twice, once for 
three weeks, and again for a month; but I will not be 
able to keep them from it this winter. I have not worn 
shoes for ten years. I have had no stockings but such 
as you see; the legs of stockings a neighbour gave me, 
when he had worn out the feet of then}. I have not 
got a new coat this five years. This is an old one a 
neighbour gave me six months ago; you see it is nothing 
15* 



174 

but rags. There is a son of mine; (putting forward a 
half naked boy about eleven or twelve years old;) he 
never wore breeches: he never had one: this is a bor- 
rowed coat he has on him. (A man's coat all rags, 
dangling apd trailing about him.) You see he has 
nothing else covering him but a shirt. That shirt is 
the only stitch of clothing he has of his own. We lie 
* on straw, that we get from some neighbour in charity; 
we do not change it; we do not part with it at all, but 
as it wastes away, the neighbours give us a wisp to 
add to it. All the bed-clothes we have is a single fold 
of a blanket, and a sheet. My wife and I use the 
blanket. The children all lie together, and have no 
covering but the sheet. There are numbers in the 
parish as badly, or worse off, than I am." 

Mr. Lyons adds — "that man is as fair a sample of 
his class as could be produced; or rather he is a 
favourable sample, as he is an honest fellow well 
known, and befriended by his neighbours." He goes 
on to say that he has taken a census of the number and 
condition of the inhabitants of the parish: that there 
are 1618 families, making 9000 souls. This you will 
observe gives an average of a little more than three 
children to a family, so that the burthen of children is 
by no means large. Of this number, there were 751 
men, barefoot; 3136 of both sexes, who in five years 
had not purchased one important article of clothing; 
299 families with no blanket at all, and only 310 fami- 
lies with more than one blanket." 

The wife of a labourer says, "We live in a deserted 
cabin, shifting our bed from side to side, according as 
the wind blows, or the rain falls from the roof. Myself 
and my children are so naked, that, when we go out to 
beg, I must take the blanket to cover us; the wetter the 
day the more we want it, and when we come home at 
night, we have nothing but the wet blanket to cover us. 
I have often made five parts of a potato, to divide it 
with my children." 

Such is the condition of the family of the able-bodied 
labourer. But when he escapes from all this misery to 
the grave, what is the state of his family ? Hear the 



175 

widow of one: "My cabin fell in soon after my hus- 
band's death. The neighbours built me a new one, but 
the rain comes through the roof, which is badly thatched, 
and beats in through the walls. I sleep on the ground, 
which is almost constantly wet, and often have not as 
much straw as would fill a hat. I have but a single 
fold of blanket to cover me and my children. I have 
had it eight years." 

It was agreed, says the commissioner who reports 
this evidence, by all the by-standers, including several 
magistrates, clergymen, and farmers, that few widows 
of small landholders, much less labourers, can be better 
circumstanced than this woman. 

"About five or six years ago," says a clergyman, 
"during a time of distress, I gave a kind of soup to 
some poor women every evening. One evening they 
came before the soup was ready. Some cabbage stumps 
were thrown out of the kitchen, and lying about. The 
pigs and fowls had picked them almost bare. I myself 
saw six or seven of the poor women turn their faces 
toward the wall, and eat the stumps the pigs had left." 

If such is the state of the poor in health, what is it 
when sickness comes; and sickness is the sure conse- 
quence of this condition ? Take one word from a phy- 
sician: "In many instances, when I have, spoken of 
gruel as necessary for the patient, I have been told I 
might as well order them claret, because they had nei- 
ther the materials nor the turf to boil it. I have 
frequently found lying on the bare damp ground, with- 
out any covering, straw being considered a luxury, 
which the pig only, who pays the rent, has a right to 
enjoy." Did I exaggerate when I said that the poor 
man would not give a straw, if he could get one, for a 
mere change in the form of government, which should 
leave him destitute as before ? 

When I took up this subject, I flattered myself that 
I should be able to bring within the compass of one 
lecture not only the facts I have laid before you, but 
the inferences they suggest to my own mind. I per- 
suade myself that you already anticipate much of what 
I have to say, and that a few hasty remarks might be 



176 

sufficient to possess you with my ideas, and to lead 
you to adopt them. But in a matter of so much in- 
terest, it is not good to take any thing on trust, and I 
therefore shall have to beg your patient attention while 
I endeavour to deduce the consequences that must 
necessarily flow from this state of things. But I must 
postpone this to another occasion. 

At present it is proper to remark, that there is one 
important difference between the cases of England and 
Ireland. It is in the causes of this vast inequality of 
property. In England it has been the result of the en- 
couragement to enterprise afforded by a system of laws 
which secure effectual protection to the rights of property 
of all men in all conditions. In Ireland it had its rise in 
conquest, confiscation, plunder and oppression. These 
indeed are not chargeable on the present owners of 
property in that afflicted country, but they are pre- 
served (perhaps exaggerated) by popular tradition, and 
form, in the mind of the populace, the foundation of 
hereditary and cherished hatred of the English fami- 
lies by which most of the larger estates are held. This 
may very much increase the dangers which, threaten the 
government, and all who find shelter under it; and in 
an equal degree abates our sympathy with the victims 
of any revolution which may take place, and mitigates 
our concern for any consequences which may attend it. 
But these considerations take nothing from the force of 
the argument derived from the example of England, to 
prove that the greatest inequality may proceed as well 
from justice and freedom, and good laws, as from 
tyranny and oppression, and misrule. In one thing 
both examples concur. They both teach the effect of 
this inequality, however it may originate. It is not 
perhaps greater in Ireland than in England. The des- 
titution of the poorer classes is indeed greater; but the 
maximum of wealth, and the sum total of wealth in 
the higher is much less. But in both countries it ends 
in an intensity of wretchedness, which human nature 
cannot be expected to endure. Whether it will react 
under this oppression, and what will be the results of 
its reaction, are questions of great interest, not to the 



177 

parties alone, but to the world. The consequences of 
a political convulsion overturning the rights of property 
in a country connected by commerce with the whole 
earth, are incalculable. The means of averting this 
danger, if any such exist, are in the hands of those 
whom it more immediately and formidably threatens. 
What these may be, is the most important problem now 
presented to the political world. Whether they whose 
business it is to work it, are equal to the task; whether 
indeed they are conscious of the nature of the causes, 
which, deep below the surface, are working to prepare 
a convulsion, which may not leave one stone standing 
on another, of the whole fabric of government and 
society, may well be doubted. The fate of empires 
rests on the will of him who holds the hearts of princes 
in his hand. Quern Deus vult perdere, prius dementat. 
At present, we look in vain among the ministers of 
England for the names of men already made famous 
by virtue, wisdom, or firmness. The discussion of 
questions, on which her fate depends, is interrupted by 
the jars of personal rivalry for the favour of a queen 
whose thoughts are fixed on the adjustment of the head- 
dresses of her personal attendants, and the etiquette of 
her court. Poor girl! What else should she trouble 
herself about ? Her accession has been hailed with 
acclamations almost as loud as those which welcomed 
Marie Antoinette to Paris, and her faithful subjects, 
zealous for her happiness, are mainly anxious about the 
choice she shall make of one to share her bed — her 
throne, — perhaps her scaffold and her bloody grave.* Is 
she then more secure than Belshazzar at his last feast? 
Is there no handwriting on the wall which it needs no 
Daniel to interpret? Will the spires of her churches 
still avert the lightning of heaven from that island so 
long favoured ? Will the cries of her poor be drowned, 

* Written in January, 1839. The ideas intended to be illus- 
trated are not the less just because the queen has changed her 
position. It is fair to suppose that she saw her danger, and, re- 
nouncing the purpose of "enfeoffing herself to popularity," has 
determined to make common cause against a common danger 
with the aristocracy of her kingdom. 



178 

so that they shall not reach the ear of God, by the shout 
of emancipation from the West Indies? Will the 
wrongs of Ireland be forgiven to the cheap sympathy 
which so pathetically laments the hard lot of our 
slaves? Will Sabbath-schools and missionary socie- 
ties atone for the gross license which pollutes the 
higher classes of the community? If such expecta- 
tions be reasonable, and if the meek and lonely author 
of that religion which calls the whole earth to repent- 
ance, can be supposed to look with peculiar favour on a 
people who habitually boast themselves of their supe- 
riority over the rest of the human race, not only in 
wealth and elegance — in refinement, in science and in 
art, but also in wisdom, charity, benevolence, piety and 
every virtue, and especially in that repentance which 
mourns over all sins but their own, then may the fate 
which impends over them be providentially averted. 
What that fate will probably be, it shall be my en- 
deavour in my next lecture to shadow forth with as 
much distinctness as the uncertainty which hangs over 
all the future will permit. 



LECTURE XI. 

The reader will be at no loss to discover, that the 
following discourse has been written long since those 
which precede, and those which follow it. It has in 
truth been prepared, while the rest of the work was in 
the press, to supply the accidental loss of two lectures 
of the series. 

So far, gentlemen, I have endeavoured to show you 
how, by the reciprocal action and reaction of society 
and government in England, the constitution of that 
kingdom was gradually moulded into the form it wore 
at the beginning of this century. Until that time no- 
thing had been done, since the first summons of the 
commons to parliament, which those best versed in 



179 

the subject consider as essentially changing its princi- 
ples or its structure. The substitution of William and 
Mary for the catholic branch of the house of Stuart, is 
familiarly called a revolution. But so far as it affected 
the succession, it was functus officio at once. Its 
whole force was spent upon the abdicated monarch and 
his romanist son, and the crown has since descended 
according to the same fundamental law, and with the 
same powers and prerogatives as before. All else that 
was done was not to destroy, but to restore the consti- 
tution. The same lords and commons remained, and 
the great fundamental principles which had before been 
recognised and acted on, were distinctly proclaimed 
and ratified. The same king, lords and commons, 
together, still constitute the nation. This was a fact 
existing in the nature of the thing. That the commons 
are all present in the house of commons, is a fiction, 
but it is no new fiction. It had been received as truth 
for centuries, and it is still so received. 

A people is, of necessity, omnipotent over itsejf, and 
when it is established that the king, lords and com- 
mons, are the ivhole people, it follows that all power 
resides in the government so constituted. It must 
have been so always, and continues to be so now. Is 
the king, as some have thought, the source of power? 
He is there present with all the power it may be his to 
exercise or to confer. Does all power proceed from 
the people? They are there, too, in all the plenitude 
of their power. The government, so constituted, is 
not merely a legislative body, but at its own pleasure 
assumes and exercises the functions which we assign 
to what we call conventions, assembled to change the 
constitution itself. It is, in truth, by turns, an ordi- 
nary legislature, and a convention, rarely acting in this 
last character, but ever ready and competent to do so. 

It is to this strange fiction that the constitution of 
England owes its ductility and its permanency too. If 
it be asked what is the composition of this body which 
is called the commons of England; the answer is, that 
it is composed of as many representatives of the dif- 
ferent interests in the community, as these different 



180 

interests choose to be represented by. How is this 
known ? They have so declared it. The. court of the 
feudal lord was at first open to all his feudatories, but, 
in this great barony of all, the inconvenience of per- 
sonal attendance led to attendance by deputy, and in 
person, or by deputy, all are present. 

But what if any interest be altogether unrepresented ? 
Then the commons are not all present. None can be 
rightfully excluded. It was never intended to exclude 
any. Should a new interest arise, therefore, for which 
no representation has been provided, provision must be 
made for it. Hence the monied interest was allowed 
to throw itself into the decayed boroughs, and to in- 
trench itself in these deserted fortresses, erected for 
the protection of interests that had ceased to exist. 
Thus it was, that, without any violent or marked 
change, but by a gradual course of alternate abrasion 
and accretion, the government of England took upon 
itself the form it wore at the opening of that which is 
called the reform parliament. 

Even by that body, no change was made in the fun- 
damentals of the government. An interest had arisen, 
(the manufacturing,) which demanded representation, 
and it was allowed. No part of the rubbish of the 
constitution was fit to be worked up for the purpose, 
and therefore the object was attained by summoning re- 
presentatives from places before unrepresented. This, 
on the principles of the constitution, was quite right. 
It is not easy to say as much for the disfranchisement 
of the decayed boroughs, whereby the monied interest 
was deprived of the just representation it had provided 
for itself. No interest more needs protection, for none 
is exposed to so much danger. No interest can feel 
more justified in protecting itself per fas aut nefas. 
Hence the sudden growth of bribery in popular elec- 
tions. No man can defend the morality of thisj but 
they who deprived that important interest of the means 
of securing a representation to itself without corrupting 
the people, ought to have looked to this consequence. 

I have said more on this curious and interesting sub- 
ject than was necessary at this time. My object was 



181 

to call your attention to the fact that all diffusions of 
power in England have been consequent on the diffu- 
sion of wealth. Whenever a new interest arose, there 
was a new fund. from which contribution to the neces- 
sities of the state might be demanded. If unrepre- 
sented, there was no one properly authorized to "give 
and grant," on behalf of such interest, and the most 
sacred principle of the constitution forbid that any 
thing should be taken from it, but by its own free gift. 
To deny it representation, not to grant it, would have 
been to change the constitution. 

Now it so happens, that on all such occasions, power 
has been seen to pass from the few to the many: first 
shared by the king with his peers, and then with the 
more numerous commons. To a superficial observer, 
this may seem like a recognition of the mere right of 
numbers to self-government. But it was not so; when 
the barons demanded of the king that he should con- 
form his legislation to their wishes, they did not say to 
him, "you are one, and we are many; and therefore it 
is more reasonable that we should make laws for you 
than you for us." By no means. But they said, "the 
legislative power is yours, of right. We deny it not, 
and we have no wish to usurp it. But we have our own 
peculiar interests, and we desire to see your legislation 
properly adapted to them. We have money, which you 
want, and which you cannot obtain but by our free gift. 
Now we will give you nothing, unless, in the use you 
make of the power, which we acknowledge to abide in 
you, you show a due respect for our peculiar rights, 
and provide safeguards for our distinctive interests." 

It is common to consider the transaction of Runny- 
mede as a sort of revolution. It was no such thing. 
It was a restoration of the constitution, which the king 
had endeavoured to change, by devising means to escape 
the necessity of calling on his court of parliament for 
extraordinary supplies. Had he succeeded in this, they 
would have lost their only means of pressing their 
grievances on the attention of the crown, and bartering 
so much money for so much immunity. When they 
16 



182 

had prevailed, so far as to re-establish their right to 
grant or withhold supplies, they dispersed. 

At first the peers did but make known their wishes; 
and when once the king had pledged his kingly word 
to comply with them, they voted the supplies and went 
away satisfied. The laws agreed upon were afterwards 
promulgated and expressed, to be enacted at their re- 
quest or with their approbation. 

It was not until Richard the Second violated a pro- 
mise so given, that they saw the necessity of securing 
themselves against such breaches of faith by preparing 
the bills which they proposed for his approbation, in the 
form of laws, to be signed by him during their session. 
Hence the origination of bills in parliament, by virtue 
of which that body took on the appearance of a portion 
of the legislature; though, for a long time afterwards, 
the laws owed all their force to the potential words, 
"Dominus Rex statuit." 

In this we see the admission, first of the peers, and 
then of the commons, to a part in the highest function 
of government, and in both instances we see that this 
has been brought about by the diffusion of wealth, and 
not in virtue of any divine right of the many to govern 
the few. 

But there is a point beyond which the diffusion of 
wealth cannot be carried, and I have shown you that 
England has already reached and passed that point. The 
opposite process of accumulation has been going on for 
some years. That great body of men of moderate but 
independent property that was once known as the com- 
mons in England, and which, in that character, curbed 
the power of the king and peers, above them, and gave 
law to a willing multitude below, has disappeared. A 
small part has risen up into the class of the very rich, 
and the great body of it has sunk down into the crushed 
mass of the abjectly poor. 

In this state of things, the political theorist imagines 
that he sees an occasion for a new modification of the 
government. Seeing nothing in what has been formerly 
done, but the admission of numbers to a share of con- 
stitutional power, he suggests to the starving multitude 






183 

that that is the true remedy for all their grievances. He 
places himself at their head, and urges their demand 
on the actual depositaries of power. He does not per- 
ceive that the conditions of the problem are changed, 
and is disposed to trust to the same vis medicatrix in 
the constitution, which has so often worked itself free 
from other maladies. He sees an apparent analogy be- 
tween this and the foregone distempers of the state 
which have been relieved by imparting political power 
to the discontented or oppressed. He remembers that 
the benefit resulting from this measure has never been 
attended by any countervailing evil. Why should evil 
result from it now r What reason can be given why 
the same old and approved remedy should not again be 
tried ? 

The same question was propounded in France half a 
century ago, and the answer, written in characters of 
blood and flame, is easily deciphered, but not so easily 
understood. It plainly announces that the conditions 
of the problem were essentially changed, and that there 
was some new cause at work, making a most disastrous 
difference in the result. What that cause was, seems 
not agreed to this day, for we still find the interpreters 
of the oracle differing about its meaning. 

The solution given by those, who, at the same time 
cultivate the national prejudices of the English people, 
and endeavour to inspire them with a hatred for the 
institutions of their own country, is amusing enough. 
They settle the matter at once, by saying that they who 
decapitated Charles I., and established the reign of law 
and order under Cromwell, and who afterwards ex- 
pelled James II., and founded the late constitution of 
England under William and Mary, were Englishmen. 
That is enough. The wretches, who, in the latter end 
of the last century, flew out, robbed, murdered, and 
destroyed — who not only killed their king, degraded 
and proscribed their nobility, and desecrated and de- 
spoiled the church, (all of which men are beginning 
again to think was right enough,) but laid waste the 
country, and confiscated all property, silencing the 
owners forever with their noyades and fusillades, and 



184 

mitraillades — what were they but Frenchmen — half- 
monkey and half-tiger? What better could be ex- 
pected from them ? 

This way of treating and disposing of such grave 
questions may be well illustrated by an anecdote told 
by the ingenious Dr. Moore. A young Frenchman, 
having studied medicine first at Paris, and afterwards 
at Edinborough, was returning home through England, 
doubly provided with diplomas authorizing him to kill 
secundum artem. At an inn, one night, on his journey, 
he overheard a conversation between a sick man and 
his nurse. The patient was said to be dangerously ill 
of a fever. The doctors had prescribed the lightest 
.diet and cooling drinks; but he took a fancy to a red 
herring, and urged the nurse to procure one. This 
she refused, assuring him the doctors said it would cer- 
tainly kill him. Entreaties and bribes at length pre- 
vailed. The herring was cooked and eaten, and next 
morning the man was pronounced out of danger. 
"Mem:" wrote the Frenchman, in his note book: "red 
herring sovereign cure for a fever." Returning home, 
he used this new remedy freely, and his patients died. 
Made wise, as he supposed, by experience, the doctor 
subjoined to his former memorandum, the following: 
"N. B. Cures an Englishman, but kills a Frenchman?' 

Such was the reasoning of one who had only learned 
to prescribe for diseases by name, without learning to 
distinguish their various types, grades, and stages. Of 
a like nature is that of those who see nothing in revo- 
lutions but the results, without investigating or under- 
standing their causes, and the circumstances under 
which they take place. It is the business of the po- 
litical philosopher to look deeper than this, and to com- 
pare all the facts of the case with the corresponding 
facts attending those changes in the English constitu- 
tion which the empyrics of France quoted at the time 
as examples for imitation. 

In all former instances wherein concessions of power 
have been demanded by numbers, in England, the ap- 
plication might have been enforced by reasoning like 
this. Addressing the depositaries of power, the can- 



185 

didates for political enfranchisement might have said: 
"We have in all things the same common interest with 
you. The protection of the rights of all men in all 
conditions, (the proper function of government,) is as 
dear to us as to you; for our acknowledged personal 
and individual rights are, collectively, as numerous, as 
various, and as valuable as yours. The protection of 
the particular right of property, which, more than any 
other, needs the care of government, is especially de- 
sirable to us; for our property is not only dear to us to 
the extent of its intrinsic value, but we prize it as the 
reward of our own industry and enterprise. We 
cherish the rights of property, not only on account of 
what we already possess, but because, intending to 
pursue the same course of exertion which has made us 
rich, and to which habit has familiarized us, we expect 
to be yet richer. Animated by this purpose, we may 
reasonably expect, that our admission to a share of 
power, will not only fortify the rights of property, but 
will tend to develope all the resources of the country, 
by trie disposition to encourage enterprise, which we 
shall carry into the government. What evil can you 
apprehend, that you should deny yourselves this advan- 
tage from our co-operation ? Assuredly none; for we 
can do you no injury which will not equally harm our- 
selves.* What motive then can you have for wishing 
to exclude us — (apart from that pride of place which 
reason will not recognise as an adequate motive) — what 
motive can you have, unless you have some design to 
use your power for your own benefit, and to our preju- 
dice ? If you have none such, you will admit us. I£ 
you have such a motive, the avowal of it would justify 
us in insisting on admission, and though you disclaim 
it, your obstinate resistance to our reasonable demand 
will lead us to doubt your sincerity, and determine us 
to urge our pretensions more strenuously." 

Had the admission of the knights of the shires, and 
the deputies from the great boroughs, into the English 
parliament, been formally discussed between the king 
and peers on the one hand, and the commons on the 
other, this is what the latter might have truly said. 
16* 



186 

We have no reason to believe that any such discussion 
was had. History only tells us that they were sum- 
moned to parliament. But we can hardly doubt that 
thoughts like these passed through the mind of Edward, 
convincing him, that the supplies to be obtained by this 
concession would not be purchased by any sacrifice of 
interest or duty. 

Compare this view of the matter with any that was 
offered by Sansculottism in France, or can now be 
ottered on behalf of chartism in England. Political 
enfranchisement is now demanded on behalf of the 
whole population of the kingdom, without distinction, 
save of age and sex, on the ground that the interests of 
the demandants are totally and irreconcilably opposite 
to those of the present possessors of power. They 
complain that they are ruled without regard to their 
interests or rights, that they are wronged and oppressed, 
and therefore they demand admission to the exercise of 
political franchises, as a means of self-defence and self- 
redress. 

It is not for us to decide whether their complaints 
are well or ill founded. What concerns. us, (and that 
for our own sakes — not theirs,) is to consider what 
would be the consequence of granting their demands. 

If the number of those thus seeking enfranchisement 
were comparatively very small, the indulgence of their 
wishes might be of little importance to either party. 
They themselves would derive little advantage from it, 
and the vast evil that would result from their presence 
in the councils of the nation, would be the facility with 
which they might be used for the purposes of the' fac- 
tious or perverse. Like the Irish representation in the 
British parliament of late, it might be their function to 
keep up the majority of a falling minister, or to em- 
barrass the measures of his successor. This is all they 
could do; and this is an evil which attends the pro- 
ceedings of all deliberative bodies. A greater mischief 
might be cheerfully endured (as in the case of Ireland) 
to pacify the discontented, and induce them to submit 
quietly to wholesome laws, by making them seem as if 
enacted by themselves. 



187 

But the case of English chartism is widely different 
from this. The men who are demanding admission to 
the polls very far outnumber all the classes now repre- 
sented; and they demand it, that they may have an 
opportunity to assert, by legislation, what they may 
choose to call the rights of those, who, as the law now 
stands, have no right to anything but the wages they 
may earn from day to day. How would they accom- 
plish this, without, in the first instance, conferring on 
them some rights, to be afterwards made the subject of 
legislation ? 

If, in a state of society, such as is exhibited in the 
evidence I have laid before you, the power of legisla- 
tion were entirely taken away from the higher classes, 
and placed unreservedly in the hands of the starving 
multitude, we can plainly see, that the first use they 
would make of their power, would be to decree them- 
selves something to eat.* Nor would they stop there. 
They would provide for to-morrow as well as to-day; 
for their children as well as themselves. In short, they 
would lose no time in legislating themselves into an 
exemption alike from labour and want, and into the 
enjoyment of at least an equal share of the property of 
the country on the easiest terms. t 

Between this supposed case, and the establishment 
of universal suffrage, in a country like England, there 
is no appreciable difference. The higher classes, being 
still represented, would indeed be in condition to re- 
monstrate against the wholesale robbery to which they 
would be exposed. But what effect would this have, 
but to exasperate their adversaries, and to furnish pre- 
texts for the farther oppression of men who could be 
"so dead to their duty, to their country, as to prefer 
their own paltry interests to the general weal ?" The 
lamp-post and the guillotine in France are witnesses to 
the danger of opposing remonstrances, or even argu- 
ment, to the arbitrary will of triumphant numbers, in 

* " Cade. Seven halfpenny loaves shall be sold for a penny; 
the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops." Shakspeare. 

t " Cade. My mouth shall be the parliament of England; and 
henceforward all things shall be in common." Ibid. 



1SS 

whom the sated appetite for plunder presently engen- 
ders the thirst for blood. How long would it be before 
not one stone would be left on another of either of the 
political or social edifice in England ? What structure 
would take its place, who can foresee ? In the mean- 
time, the infinite variety of wretchedness which must 
overwhelm the whole community, and the innumerable 
crimes which would avenge themselves upon their 
authors, would make an aggregate of evil not to be en- 
dured for the sake of any future and contingent good. 
They who have the power to avert such horrors, are 
bound to do so. The very difficulty of the task but makes 
the duty more imperious, because it makes the danger 
more apparent and more frightful. Whatever effort, 
therefore, whatever peril, whatever sacrifice it may de- 
mand, all should be encountered freely. 

Fortunately, as it may seem, this duty is confided to 
those who are urged to its performance by their highest 
and dearest interests. With the fate of revolutionary 
France before their eyes, and the analogy between the 
condition of the French masses just before the revolu- 
tion, and that of the English now, it seems reasonable 
to expect that all other considerations, political or per- 
sonal, would be disregarded, when put in comparison 
with the interests at stake, and the dangers that threaten 
them. 

Fifty years ago, Edmund Burke said of the English 
people, that they looked up with awe to kings, with 
affection to parliaments, with reverence to priests, and 
with respect to nobility. So far as this is true at this 
day, there is to be found, in those sentiments, the best 
security for the permanency of apolitical system, which, 
while it endures, will protect the right of property, along 
with every other right it recognises. But what must be 
the consequence, should these sentiments disappear? 
What if they should give place, as they then certainly 
would, to the opposite feelings of contempt, hatred, de- 
rision and scorn? What would remain, but the mere 
physical strength of armed hirelings, to defend the 
higher orders against the rapacity and fury of the in- 
surgent mass ? And what security, that these myrmi- 



1S9 

dons of power, would not, in that extremity, there, as 
elsewhere, give all their sympathies to the mob, co- 
operate with those they were called on to suppress, and 
turn their arms against their masters? 

It is impossible to listen to the magnificent descant 
in which the great political seer I have just named, 
celebrates the glories of the British constitution, and 
proclaims its dangers, without feeling that we hear the 
voice of inspiration. 

"So long as the well compacted structure of our 
church and state, the sanctuary, the holy of holies of 
that ancient law, — defended by reverence — defended 
by power, a fortress at once and a temple, shall stand 
inviolate on the brow of the British lion, — so long as 
the British monarchy, not more limited than fenced by 
the orders of the state, shall, like the proud keep of 
Windsor, rising in the majesty of proportion, and girt 
with the double belt of its kindred and coeval towers, — 
so long as this awful structure shall oversee and guard 
the subjected land, — so long as our sovereign lord, the 
king, and his faithful subjects, the lords and commons 
of this realm — the triple cord which no man can breaks 
the solemn, sworn, constitutional frank-pledge of this 
nation; the firm guarantees of each other's being and 
each other's rights; the joint and several securities, 
each in its place and order, for every kind and every 
quality of property and of dignity ,~as long as these 
endure, we are all safe together — the high from the 
blights of envy, and the spoliations of rapacity; and 
the low from the iron hand of oppression, and the inso- 
lent spurn of contempt. Amen! so be it; and so it 
will be, 

Dum domus Mnece Capitoli immobile saxum 
Accolit, imperiumque pater JRomanus habebit. 

But if the rude inroad of Gallic tumult, with its so- 
phistical rights of man, to falsify the account, and its 
sword as a makeweight, to throw into the scale, shall 
be introduced into our city, by a misguided populace, 
set on by proud great men, themselves blinded and 



190 

intoxicated by a frantic ambition, we shall, all of us, 
perish and be overwhelmed in one common ruin." 

Can any doubt what judgment the author of this rapt 
prophetic strain would form, at this day, on a proposal 
to admit the lower classes in England to a representa- 
tion proportioned to their numbers, and to submit the 
destiny of the kingdom to the votes of the majority, 
"told by the head ?" But what need of prophecy — 
what need even of the experience of revolutionary 
movements elsewhere, to tell us what the result must 
be ! The idea that such a multitude of starving wretches, 
as are described in the testimony I have laid before you, 
when placed in the immediate presence of the £reat 
object of their desire, and armed with authority to ap- 
propriate it, according to the forms of law, would hesi 
tate to do so, is too preposterous to merit the respect of 
refutation and exposure. No man, capable of thought, 
can entertain it; and all such who wish to furnish the 
facilities for such a consummation, as surely desire and 
design it. Are there none such, even among men of 
light and leading ? The answer may be given in the 
single word "chartism," and in the names of its nu- 
merous advocates at the hustings, in the press, and even 
on the very floor of parliament. Who and what are 
these men? Let no man permit himself to despise 
them because heretofore they have been obscure. They 
may not be wise or enlightend, but they are efficient — 
armed with a talent the more potent for mischief, because 
not regulated and directed by other and more valuable 
talents. It may be found associated with extravagance, 
with folly^even with madness. What then? Is the 
lighted match less dangerous because he who bears it 
is a madman ? What were they but just such madmen, 
who gave a voice to the inarticulate thoughts and 
wishes of the Paris mobs, and pulled down the whole 
political and social fabric of France, and buried them- 
selves^ beneath the ruins? 

The actual constitution of Great Britain is the only 
obstacle that stands between the hungry and countless 
multitude, and the abundant wealth which they see. 
heaped up on every side, in every form that can tempt 



191 

desire. While the inequalities of property were less 
than they now are, and those interested in protecting 
the rights of property were more numerous in propor- 
tion, this barrier appeared too strong and too well de- 
fended to be attempted. But the number of the de- 
fenders is less, and that of the assailants far greater. 
The sufferings of the multitude are much increased, 
and, just in a like degree, does wealth more and more 
insult their distresses by its gorgeous ostentation. 
There is a point, up to which numbers may be held in 
check by the steady countenance of a few men, and 
even of a single man. Let them not be too numerous 
to hear the voice they have been accustomed to obey, 
and they may obey it still. Lefefethem meet the flash- 
ing eye which speaks the spirit of command, and they 
may quail before it. But with men in great tumultuary 
masses this cannot be; and the courage with which they 
then inspire each other is a fearful thing. Then he, 
however brave, who stands alone to encounter it, quails 
and blenches in his turn, in view of a danger over- 
whelming in its vastness, hideous in the deformity of 
rage, appalling by its inarticulate mutterings and savage 
hootings. Like a thunder-cloud, its approach, onward 
and still onward, permits no parley and shows resist- 
ance to be vain. So circumstanced, the characters of 
men are totally reversed; and cowards display the 
intrepidity of heroes, while the sword falls from the 
nerveless hand of the brave. The fall of the Bastille 
is an instance of this sort, where a handful of men, of 
tried courage and steady discipline, found themselves 
paralyzed by dismay, though but called to defend a 
fortress, deemed impregnable, against an unarmed mob. 
But the defenders permitted themselves to look into 
the faces of the assailants, and read the eager, ravening 
expression of their hungry eyes. In that moment they 
were lost. The joints of their loins were loosed, and 
they became as dead men,* and the castle was stormed 
by means which a child, animated with the spirit of a 
man, might have baffled. 

Is not the situation of the privileged few, resting, as 
yet, with a feeling of security, within the strong fortress 



192 

of the British constitution, something like this? They 
deem themselves safe, surrounded by that "double belt 
of kindred and coeval towers." But let the cry once 
be heard, "to the Bastille! to the Bastille!" issuing in 
horrid accord from millions of throats; let but the wolf- 
ish glance of eager famine fasten on its prey; and it 
should cause no wonder if that, which men think them- 
selves prepared to defend to the last extremity, shall 
be surrendered without a struggle. With or without a 
struggle, if the attack is made, it will succeed. The 
time has been when nobility trampled down the rabble 
like grass. But nobility then rode to battle on a mailed 
charger, cased in armour of proof, which defied the 
feeble weapons of the multitude. The silken robe of 
modern nobility affords no such protection against the 
pike. In that day the prowess of the leader was in his 
strong right arm. Now it is in the mind; and what is 
intellectual superiority in the storm of a tumultuary 
insurrection? The iron duke himself, would be but a 
man of straw in the hands of a mob. The office of 
mind is to prevent such scenes. 

How are they to be prevented? By cultivating in the 
people those same sentiments which have heretofore 
protected the higher orders of the state from the rapa- 
city and brute force of the multitude. That same 
awe, that same affection, reverence, and respect, which 
have heretofore bucklered the breasts of king and 
priest and noble, must be revived and cherished. It is 
superfluous to say that they do not now exist to the 
same extent, or with the same intensity as formerly. 
The fact is alarmingly notorious. The cause may be 
found, in part, in the increased sufferings of the lowest 
class, in the increased multitude of the sufferers, in 
the more extravagant waste and ostentation of the rich, 
and in the great gulf between them and the poor, which 
has swallowed up the middle class, and, like that be- 
tween Dives and Lazarus, seems to render sympathy 
impossible. These causes, and such effect as properly 
belong to them, are the necessary results of that ad- 
vance in prosperity, which it is vain to speak of as an 
evil. To turn back its course, or even to check its 



193 

progress, is not to be thought of. The thing is done. 
With its good and its evil, it is one of the conditions 
of the problem to be worked. What is to be done 
with it? 

However difficult it may be to answer the question 
in detail, it is easy to give an answer, in general terms, 
as true as it is obvious. It is that they, whom it con- 
cerns, should seek out the causes which originally in- 
vested these objects of popular regard with that prestige, 
which has so long made them sacred; and, by all pos- 
sible — all imaginable means, strive to renew and in- 
crease their activity. 

Foremost among these was the military renown of 
England, gained in conflicts, on which the safety of the 
nation, and the well-being of the humblest of its people 
depended. In whatever of glory was won in these 
struggles, the common soldier had his share,* and, when 
he fell on the battle field, his humble friends at home 
felt that his blood had been shed for them. It was the 
struggle with the Dutch for the mastery of the narrow 
seas, that made every man in England, in thought and 
wish, a naval hero. It was the threatened invasion of 
England by France, that made every man, in heart, a 
soldier. When the victory of Waterloo, after the agita- 
tions and perils of a quarter of a century, first restored 
England to a sense of security, every soldier that re- 
turned from that field of carnage and glory, was the 
Wellington of his own village. The honours and 
rewards that awaited him at home, were according to his 
measure and capacity, the same as those conferred on 
his illustrious leader. Even in these he seemed to have 
a share: and every true English heart rejoiced, when 
the conqueror of the conquerors of the world retired, 
to the enjoyment of such honours as no man had ever 
won, the price of such services as no man had ever 
rendered. 

All loyalty first took its rise from such sources. The 
honours of the warrior descend to his posterity. The 
lawgiver, the statesman, is hired by the job. When he 
has received his penny there is nothing more that he 
can claim. Chatham may seem an exception, but he 
17 



194 






made the glory of Wolfe and Hawke his own. But 
who ever heard of the founder of a dynasty who was 
not a soldier? And why is it that modern nobility, the 
nobility of the gown and counting-house, looks low and 
base, in presence of those who trace their honours to 
men that won them in the field of Hastings? What 
new-made peer, but would gladly exchange his new- 
made robe, for the tattered remnant of one that had 
been worn at Runnimede? How true to this sentiment 
are the spirit-stirring words, put by Shakspeare into the 
mouth of Henry V. at Agincourt! 



-"Then shall our names. 



Familiar in their mouths as household words, 
Harry the king - , Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester 
Be, in their flowing cups, freshly remembered." 

These, and such names, are the objects of that far 
descended admiration, that engenders respect for the 
order they illustrate. They are a patent of nobility 
far prouder than any that kings can confer. What man, 
animated by that true sense of honour that achieves all 
greatness, would exchange the name and lineage of 
Talbot, Neville or Percy, for any fire-new title hot 
from the mint of royalty, given in exchange for a name 
already forgotten. The decayed descendant of an illus- 
trious line may win a peerage. He has but to show 
himself worthy of the name he bears. But though the 
dukedom of Northumberland should be conferred on a 
man of obscure lineage, he must still say, 

No drop of princely Percy's blood 

In these cold veins doth run: 
With Hotspur's honours — blazon name, 

I yet am poor Smyth-son." 

The satire here owes all its stinging keenness to the 
universality of the sentiment of which I speak. Sir 
Hugh Smithson, who married the heiress of the house 
of Northumberland, was a sensible and good man, — 
perhaps a brave one; but he was no Percy. Parliament 
gave him the name, and the king made him a duke. 
Still he was no Percy, and whatever respect for nobility 



195 

might be cherished by the followers of that noble house, 
could never find its object in him. 

But why multiply instances to prove that of which 
you all are conscious? The wisdom, which learns to 
think more highly of the honours purchased by long and 
faithful devotion to the cause of humanity, or to the 
civil service of the state, than of that won by the sword, 
is of the slow growth of time, matured by reflection. 
It is a wisdom of which the multitude are incapable: 
of which even you, with all your opportunities, are in- 
capable. What are the names in history, which your 
young imagination delights to recall? Is it the wisdom 
of Socrates, the justice of Aristides, the philosophy of 
Plato that awakens your enthusiasm; or the death- 
struggle of Thermopylae, and the victories of Salamis ' 
and Marathon? Were you a Greek, would you choose 
to trace your descent from Solon or from Themistocles? 
And had not the bloody policy of Henry VII. swept 
the race of Plantagenet from the face of the earth, what 
Englishman would not feel more real pride, in bearing 
worthily that proudest of all proud names, than in all 
the honours of the peerage? 

It may deserve consideration therefore, whether, in 
cultivating the arts of peace, at the expense of the war- 
like character and habits of the people, and permitting 
the chain of sympathy between the soldier and his chief 
to rust away, the statesmen of England do not hazard 
the loss of much of that peculiar sentiment which first 
disposed her people to "look up with respect to nobi- 
lity." England indeed still wages wars, but they are 
wars in which the people of England take no interest. 
Their newspapers may do what they can to excite en- 
thusiasm on behalf of men of whom no one ever heard, 
until they acquired an unenviable celebrity in a con- 
test with the savages of Afghanistan, or in struggling 
through the defiles of Cabul, and over the snows of the 
Himmelayan mountains. I mean no disparagement to 
them. They fought gallantly and suffered bravely. 
But what were they doing there ? Were they warding 
oft' a danger that threatened the English peasants' fire- 
side, or the liberties of his country ? No. He has per- 



196 

haps a friend there, a brother or a son, pining in the 
dungeon, or bleeding beneath the sabre of a turbanned 
despot: or who, perhaps, has given his life to win a 
victory for the benefit of the merchant princes of Lon- 
don, and this is all the connexion he has with the matter. 
The wars which made the names of Douglas and Percy 
the most popular names in Scotland and England re- 
spectively, were border wars. The poor woman in her 
cottage, as she hugged her infant to her trembling breast, 
could hear the clash of arms, and the shout of triumph, 
and she rushed forth to meet the victor, who had saved 
herself and all most dear to her, and gratefully devoted 
her children to the service of him and his forever. What 
wonder, that of all the poetry the pen has ever traced, 
there is none so stirs the English blood, as the rude 
ballads which tell of Otterbourne and Chevy Chase ? 
If the English peasant is to be again what he was, war 
must again come near him. He must again hear its 
roar across the channel, and the thunder of naval bat- 
tles must again echo through the narrow seas. Every 
man in England down to the very lowest, will then 
again feel that he has a part in her glory; and they who 
achieve it, and the monuments that celebrate it, and the 
institutions that perpetuate it, will again have an inte- 
rest for him. He will connect her ancient with her 
modern renown; he will delight to trace the heroes of 
her more recent triumphs back to their descent from 
the men who fought at Creci, Poictiers and Agincourt, 
and will cherish and respect an order in the state de- 
vised to carry down honours, from the ancestor who 
nobly won, to the son who worthily wears them. This 
is human nature; and, while man continues what he is, 
such honours will never cease to be an object of respect, 
and to be accorded without grudging or envy. Even 
at this distance, and disconnected with England, as we 
are, we take an interest in these things. The names, 
that make a part of the history of her ancient glory, 
still have charms for us; and we feel indignant, when 
the honours of the peerage are so bestowed, as to de- 
grade the descendants of the iron barons of old, by 
placing on a level with them men of to-day, who owe 



197 

their elevation to the arts of peace, or to success in the 
self-seeking pursuit of private gain. 

I beg not to be understood as denouncing as impoli- 
tic the present pacific policy of Europe, and especially 
of England. Whether wise or unwise, the spirit of the 
age demands it; and this it is which gives such fearful 
importance to the ideas I have just advanced. This 
policy or impolicy (whichever it may be) is not a thing 
of choice, but of necessity. It has its place in the ap- 
pointed order of things, and will continue until that to 
which it has been ordained shall have been accom- 
plished. Whether it be appointed by God to be the 
means of bringing down the pride of a self-righteous, 
pharisaical, and self-applauding generation, is not for 
me to decide. But it has its causes deep seated and 
uneradicable in the nature and actual condition of 
things. The spirit of the age is essentially, inveterately 
and necessarily pacific; for it is an age of luxury and 
ease, and self-indulgence, and improvement in all art 
and in every science, and, above all, it is an age of 
Cant. Armies will indeed be still kept on foot, for 
they are necessary to secure the subordination of the 
lower classes. Younger sons of noble families will 
still quarter themselves on the army as they quarter 
themselves on the church, and for the same reason. 
They did this last during the Godless aera of the French 
revolution. Did this prove that the English were a 
religious people then ? As little does the other prove 
them to be a military people now. The very romances 
which profess to be written in a military spirit, show it 
to be nearly extinct. A taste for excitement, the desire of 
military promotion, and contempt of danger will always 
be found in the young men of a certain class. But 
something more than these is necessary to make the 
soldier, and much more is necessary to secure that com- 
munity of feeling between the officer and private, which 
alone can make the latter feel himself exalted by the 
honours conferred upon his leader. "I have eaten bet- 
ter, and could eat worse," said Charles XII. of Sweden, 
after having satisfied his hunger with a piece of bread 
brought to him by one of his soldiers, with a complaint 
17* 



198 

that it was not fit to eat. Who, after that, thought of 
complaining: and who could hesitate to follow him 
through all the hardships of his Russian campaign? Do 
we find the British officer now content with ration 
bread ? If he does but miss one meal, he calls it starv- 
ing. No: he must have his catern and his kit, his cay- 
enne and mustard and champagne; and while the soldier 
must put up with his share of such coarse provision as 
the commissary can provide, the officers' bivouac is 
often a scene of luxury and riotous enjoyment. In 
that sort of warfare, in which nations struggle for ex- 
istence, however he might brave the dangers of the 
field, his spirit would sink under the privations of the 
camp. 

It is true that men are rarely so enervated by luxury 
and indulgence that they do not still like an occasional 
taste of clanger, and of something that may look like 
hardship. The love of variety disposes them to this; 
and it is only by way of variety, that they resort to it. 
The pampered epicure procures an appetite by such 
means. It furnishes the best sauce to his dainty viands, 
and he values it, like any other sauce, because he is an 
epicure. But as to a love for the hardy sports and 
vigorous exercise that "toughen manhood," it is fast 
disappearing. The national fox-chase is assuming the 
character of an oriental hunting-match. The fowling- 
piece is now used, not as the companion Of a long day's 
walk, in which the sportsman toils for the materials for 
his supper, but to be carried in a pony phaeton to some 
well stocked preserve, and employed to slaughter hun- 
dreds of birds, made tame as barn-door fowls by the 
security in which they have been bred. 

The saddle-horse, once the pride of the English gen- 
tleman, is no longer valued but as a toy. M'Adam 
first, and steam and rail-roads since, have made him 
worthless. It is a generation that moves altogether 
upon wheels, and squire Western, mounted on brown 
Bess, and, journeying from Somersetshire to London, 
would, at this day, be as strange a sight as a Hindoo in 
his palanquin, or a Chinese lady borne on the shoulders 
of a servant. The horse, no longer wanted for the sad- 



199 

die, is not now bred with a view to that admirable com- 
bination of speed and bottom, that forms the perfection 
of the animal. Instead of the tough four-mile racer, it 
is now their pride to produce the light and airy crea- 
ture that spends all his powers in a single mile. The 
rest are for the dray or post-coach. Among horses, as 
among men, the middle class, the generous hunter and 
the gallant roadster, have disappeared with the country 
gentlemen that once lived on their backs. 

That these things are so, is not a mere caprice of 
taste. They are so, because, in the nature of things, 
they must be so; and, while they continue, the people 
of England cannot be a warlike people. No doubt they 
have still a taste for the pomp and circumstance, and 
pageantry of war, and so had the soldiers of Xerxes. 
Bat even in this, their taste is changed. "The spirit- 
stirring drum, and the vile squeaking of the wry-necked 
fife," are all too harsh for ears instructed in all the mys- 
teries of harmony. Instead of these, their delicate and 
cultivated tastes require an orchestra as skilful, as 
nicely balanced, as scientifically arranged as that of a 
theatre. The Persian monarch had his musicians too, 
and he and they were the descendants of Cyrus, and 
of the men who followed Cyrus in his career of vic- 
tory. 

England doubtless has, and long will have, gallant 
officers and well trained soldiers, quite sufficient for all 
her purposes of remote conquest, and well qualified to 
suppress Manchester insurrections, and to disperse 
Irish monster meetings. There will always be enough 
of fiery and restless young men, who can see no other 
opening to fame or fortune, to such commissions in the 
army, and more than enough of those "cankers of a 
calm world and a long peace," that fill her ranks, to 
crush the whole Hindoo race, and to chase the inhabit- 
ants of the celestial empire across their Tartar wall. 
But that military spirit, which, animating a whole 
people, makes the pride of military glory the master 
passion in every breast; which, in the days of Pagan 
darkness, elevated the hero to a place among the gods, 
and, in more enlightened times, has awarded to him 



200 

and his posterity honours only not divine; that spirit 
must sleep until some new and alarming political event 
shall rouse it into action. The history of our own 
revolution shows how much of it was lost in the long 
peace that followed the war of '56. Again it slum- 
bered, and again it was awakened by the internecine 
struggles caused by the French revolution. Since then, 
a peace of nearly thirty years, during which the nation 
has advanced so rapidly in wealth, luxury, and refine- 
ment, has nearly extinguished it. Some new convul- 
sion, or some new struggle for the empire of the seas, 
with France, with Russia, perhaps with ourselves, or 
all combined, may fully restore it. Should the consti- 
tution of England endure till then, and should her arms 
be crowned with success, not too cheaply won, (some 
half a million of her starving population being first 
swept away,) the rest may again be found "looking up 
with respect to nobility." 

We have the highest authority for believing that per- 
fect happiness and perfect virtue are not for any por- 
tion of the human race, until God himself, by an agency 
which all the universe shall recognise as divine, shall 
bring in the millennium. Until then, we must be con- 
tent to buy our blessings at a price; and, even in our 
advance to moral excellence, we must expect that the 
cultivation of one class of virtues, may be attended 
with the decline of some other. The awe with which 
a people look up to kings, their affection for parlia- 
ments, their respect for nobility, all have their root in 
the love of country. Take this away, and there is 
nothing to give birth to these sentiments, and nothing 
to requite the sacrifices they may demand. And why 
do men love their country? There is certainly some 
other cause besides the mere instinct which attaches 
even brute animals to their accustomed range. Were 
it not so, then would the sentiment be uniform in its 
character and intensity. But compare it as it now 
exists with that which characterized the petty states of 
antiquity, when the names of stranger and enemy were 
nearly synonymous; when he who set foot on a foreign 
soil incurred the risk of death or bondage; when a 



201 

nation, fitting out an expedition of conquest, promised 
her soldiers, not a paltry sixpence a day, but the coun- 
try they might conquer for a home, and the inhabitants 
for slaves; and when the power of the state afforded the 
only security, that they themselves might not suffer the 
like inflictions from the enemy. In such a state of in- 
ternational law, we can see no reason to wonder at self- 
sacrifices, which, at this day, no man thinks of. The 
humane character of modern warfare has already made 
a change in this, and, by making the protection of the 
state less necessary to the safety of the individual, has 
much abated his sense of the value of military service. 
There is certainly something very engaging in the idea 
of universal philanthropy, but let it be so far realized, 
as that wars shall cease, that the Englishman shall 
know no difference between his own countryman and a 
Frenchman, and he will presently know no difference 
between his own country and Fiance, except that the 
one taxes him, fines him, imprisons him, hangs him, and 
the other does not. He is become a citizen of the 
world. If England should sink in the ocean, France 
will open her arms to receive him; and he can be taxed, 
fined, and imprisoned there as well as at home. He 
must indeed exchange the gallows for the guillotine. 
But that is a mere matter of taste. Some might prefer 
it. He will find there too a king.for his awe, a parlia- 
ment for his affection, a nobility for his respect, who 
will do as much for him as his own are like to do. 
Even the priesthood might be to him an object of reve- 
rence, notwithstanding the mass, now that philanthropy 
discountenances all prejudices; and the champion of 
the Catholic church is the vowed apostle of liberty; and 
the pope is understood to be the head of the democracy 
of Christendom. There is something very amiable in 
the exchange f mornino; visits between Windsor castle 
and the Chateau D'Eu, and in the call of the" Emperor 
Nicholas to leave his card at St. James'; and something 
very picturesque in the embrassemens of Queen Vic- 
toria and Louis Philippe. But if, while the people of 
England behold these things, they should chance to 
ask, "why then the army? why then the navy? when 



202 

then the taxes to support both !" it might be trouble- 
some to find an answer. What then would be military 
renown but a relic of barbarism, exploded by the new 
civilization; and what merit could a Talbot" claim for 
being descended from one who had made his name the 
terror of France? They who propose to themselves 
the honour of breaking down all national prejudices, 
would do well to think of these things. Foreign war 
is an evil, but not the worst evil. Who would pur- 
chase peace abroad by discord and insurrection at 
home? 

And yet, should Sir Robert Peel view the matter 
precisely in this light, and desire to raise up a war as a 
storm to clear the political atmosphere of its pestilen- 
tial vapours, it may be doubted whether he would not 
find his hands tied. The realm of England is no longer 
wide enough to afford the necessary variety of enter- 
tainment and enjoyment to the multitude of men bur- 
dened with money they know not how to spend, and 
wearied "with the overlaboured lassitude of having 
nothing to do." The millionaire would insist on being 
permitted to divide his time between his own preserves, 
London, Paris and Vienna; with an occasional jaunt 
to Florence, Rome, or Naples; and England, in her 
turn, must submit to be drained of her substance, by a 
system of absenteeism little different from that which 
has ruined Ireland. However much the statesmen of 
England may desire to restore the taste of her people 
for military glory, the spirit of the age steps in and 
forbids it. 

Is then the glory of England departed ? By no 
means. Never before did she fill so large a space in 
the eye of the world. Never before was her influence 
so extensive, her power so widely felt, and so fully 
acknowledged. In her own estimation she stands pre- 
eminent in all that constitutes greatness, and proudly 
proposes herself as an examplar to the world in every 
science; in every art; in every duty; in all that makes 
for the temporal and eternal welfare of man. But what 
is the foundation of this power, and of this boast? It 
is her wealth. 



203 

I do not propose to discuss the justice of her preten- 
sions to this high eminence. Its effect upon herself is 
the thing for our consideration. That the mass of her 
people are none the happier for this wealth, we have 
already seen. That the proportion of those thus dis- 
tinguished by the goods of fortune is diminished, is 
equally certain. Whether the enjoyments of the fa- 
voured few, whose cup was already full to overflowing, 
are at all increased, is a question for philosophers of 
the school of Apicius, and for such statesmen as Ela- 
galabus. 

The question with which we have to do is quite dif- 
ferent. It may be stated thus. The respect with which 
the people of England looked up to nobility, having 
taken its rise in services, in which every man in the 
community felt that he had an interest, and in achieve- 
ments, in the glory of which every man had a share, 
how far may it be revived and kept alive, in considera- 
tion of a wealth, in which the multitude have no part, 
and a splendour that insults their poverty ? It is need- 
less to discuss this question. The answer is involved 
in the very terms of it. 

But whether the ancient prestige in favour of the 
higher orders of the state is to be thus revived or no, 
in some way it must be done. And yet there is much 
reason to doubt, whether there are not, in that actual 
constitution of society, which renders something of this 
sort so urgently necessary, causes which will prevent 
a resort to the only adequate and appropriate means. 

When the pride of England was in feats of arms, her 
most distinguished warrior was always esteemed her 
most illustrious man, and to him the richest rewards, 
the highest honours, and the foremost place, were 
unanimously awarded. The last, to whom this de- 
scription could apply, still lingers on the stage, and 
while he lives the most presumptuous will scarcely 
venture to contest with him the palm of distinction. 
But this is not so much because England herself now 
estimates him at his full value, as because his fame, 
filling the world, constrains her to be proud of that, on 
which others look as the proudest jewel in her crown 



204 

of glory. But even now, while yet his star is above 
the horizon, it may be seen that his just pre-eminence 
is reluctantly acknowledged by some. Military re- 
nown is not now the highest boast of England. Her 
pride is now in her wealth, and they, who stand pre- 
eminent for wealth, may be seen struggling to establish 
an order of things, in which the precedence shall be 
assigned to them. 

It is not on the floor of parliament, or at the hustings, 
that they urge this pretension. It is in the saloon — the 
social circle — the arena of fashionable life, that .this 
contest is to be decided. The spirit of the age does 
not permit that the highest noble in the land should 
deny the perfect social equality of any well educated 
and well bred gentleman. But were this otherwise, 
were it possible and even admissible, that nobility 
should claim to be a separate class in society as well 
as in the state, suffering no commoners in their social 
circle but as of grace and favour, the slight would soon 
be retorted with scorn. Wealth would be at no loss 
to establish a rival clique, and, by its splendours, its 
luxuries, and its patronage, to draw away from nobility 
the grace that adorns, the wit that enlivens, the talent 
that elevates society. The wealthiest of the peers 
would begin to see that they have more in common 
with the rich commoner, than with the reduced noble, 
and, being put to choose, would rather join the circle 
'in which they may fully display and enjoy their wealth, 
than remain in that, in which their magnificence would 
seem offensive ostentation to the less affluent members 
of their society. Reasoning a priori, it might be seen 
that this would be so, and, looking at the fact as it 
exists, we see that it is so. 

It is true that many of the nobility are among the 
wealthiest men in the kingdom. Many have become 
so by the effect of general prosperity on the value of 
their hereditary landed estates. Others have sought 
the alliance of wealth in all the ranks of life. More- 
over, since wealth can no longer obtain a share of poli- 
tical power, through the rotten boroughs, it seems to 
be recognised as one of the grounds on which a place 



205 

in the house of peers may be claimed. From all these 
causes, it happens that the peers of great wealth are 
numerous enough to establish among themselves quite 
an extensive social circle. It is in their choice, if they 
think proper to do so, to make it quite exclusive — to 
shut out untitled opulence on the one hand, and beg- 
garly nobility on the other. To accomplish the first, 
it would be enough to will it. To exclude the less 
wealthy members of their own order, nothing would be 
wanting but a style of dress and ornament, of equipage 
and entertainment, with which they could not vie. No 
incivility, no neglect would be necessary. The de- 
scendant of the conqueror would, of himself, decline to 
receive hospitalities he could not reciprocate, and to 
share splendours which would shame his own inferior 
establishments. He would stand aloof, and endeavour 
to preserve as much as possible of his ancestral dignity 
by avoiding disparaging comparisons. Placed thus be- 
tween two classes, both of which may be supposed to 
be desirous of moving in that highest sphere of fashion, 
to which the wealthy peer of course belongs, it is in his 
choice to exclude both, or to admit both, or either alone. 
To make it acceptable to the one, he must restrain his 
passion for ostentation and extravagance, and, perhaps, 
in some degree, his taste for luxury and splendour. 
With the other, he may give free scope to all these. 
It is true, that, for all purposes of human happiness, 
the wealth of the Indies is no better than an ample 
competency. Perhaps he believes this; but he would 
like to know it by experience. He would like to try 
whether, peracl venture, he may not discover "some new 
thing under the sun." It may be nothing better than 
a new sauce; but for that a Roman emperor offered a 
large reward. Perhaps he would like to learn wisdom, 
by the experiment, like Solomon, and be able to say, 
with him and poor Bedford, "It is all vanity." What- 
ever be his motive, he makes up his mind to court first 
the fellowship of the rich, and to invite his. associates 
to vie with him in magnificence and costly luxury. It 
has thus come to pass, that the highest circle in Eng- 
land is one in which no man of moderate fortune can 
18 



206 

move, on terms of reciprocity, without involving him- 
self in swift destruction. Men of talent, men of wit, 
and women of beauty and accomplishment, are indeed 
made free of it on cheaper terms. But these, if they 
will understand it, are a part of the entertainment, as 
the whole tribe of led captains, toadies, and parasites, 
in all degrees and stations, are a part of the establish- 
ment of their patrons. But he who belongs to neither 
of these descriptions, and whose wealth does not far 
exceed that, which, fifty years ago, made the possessor 
an object of envy, cannot come into this circle as an 
equal, as one, who is to return, in kind, the courtesies 
and hospitalities he receives, but at the certain penalty 
of utter ruin. Such is the actual condition of society, 
and I have endeavoured to show you, that it is so, not 
by chance, nor because of the particular tastes or ca- 
prices of particular men, but because in the nature of 
man, and in the actual condition of things, it must 
be so. 

This leads to some consequences, which, reasoning 
a priori, might not have been anticipated. But it may 
be seen that they have naturally and perhaps inevitably 
taken their rise in this state of property and the conse- 
quent arrangement of society. 

I have already remarked, that, formerly, the task of 
the producing classes was to supply to their superiors, 
first the necessaries, then the comforts, and then the 
luxuries and elegancies of life. These seem to com- 
prehend all that man can want. But a thing may be 
neither a necessary, a comfort, f a luxury, nor an elegance, 
and yet, by the laws of society, it may be made so in- 
dispensable to have it, that it must be procured, at 
whatever cost. Though of no value in itself, it will 
thus, if rare, be made to command a high price; and if, 
in the nature of the thing, the supply be limited, the 
price may be pushed to a very great height. This is 
often done by means of monopoly and forestalling, and 
other arts of the seller. But what if the seller and 
buyer both concur to effect the same object? Such a 
case seems plainly impossible; but such cases do ac- 
tually occur, when a number of wealthy men desire to 



207 

establish society on a principle which shall exclude all 
who have not money to throw away. Let a tradesman 
be encouraged to monopolize the article, at the highest 
price, and assured that that price shall be returned to 
him, with a profit large enough to satisfy his most un- 
reasonable wishes. If the article is perishable, he is 
not only to be paid for what is bought of him, but the 
price must afford an indemnity, and a profit, too, on all 
that perishes on his hands, for want of buyers. This 
strange sort of arrangement is actually, though, for the 
most part, tacitly made. If faithfully kept, the deal- 
er's fortune is made: but it seems strange that men 
should be able to bind, not only themselves, but others, 
by such an arrangement. But the discipline of fashion 
makes this quite easy. Every member of the clique 
must be seen to make use of the article, and he must 
procure it from a particular dealer agreed upon, who 
will expose him if he does not. The consequence of 
such an offence is, that (to use the elegantly vulgar, 
fashionable phrase) he is forthwith cut, and put out of 
society. 

This is the sort of machinery, by which men are 
made to live in that daily manifestation of contempt of 
economy, and recklessness of extravagance, which are 
the indispensable requisites to admission into a society 
of exclusives, made up of men who have money to 
throw away. Something of the contagion of this may 
be seen among ourselves; for the frog in the fable did 
not labour harder to swell himself to the size of the ox, 
than certain men among us do to ape the fashions of 
England. One class of follies may remind you of some- 
thing in your own experience. A gentleman in Lon- 
don, finding it inconvenient to go home to dinner, dines 
at a public house. He may get his dinner at one house 
for a crown; but there is another particular house, 
where, for no better fare, he may have the honour of 
paying a guinea. Now "every body" (a name by which, 
the exclusives designate themselves) frequents the 
guinea house, the keeper of which is encouraged to 
charge a guinea for his mutton chop, that others beside 
every body may not go there, and disgust every body by 



208 

their vulgar presence. If you analyze your own feel- 
ings, young gentlemen, to discover why it is that an 
oyster supper and a bottle of champagne, at the Ra- 
leigh, are so much better than the same articles which 
may be had elsewhere for half the money, you will pro- 
bably find that the influence which has given rise to 
this preference, has come across the water. 

But in the society of which I speak, in England, this 
example is but one in a hundred of the contrivances by 
which they who claim a place in it, are made to spend 
twice or three times as much as is actually necessary 
to procure all that they do enjoy. Now how comes all 
this? It is all conventional, and established by an 
understanding among those whose purses it drains. 
They choose to have it so. And why? It shuts out 
of their society many men highly respected, enlight- 
ened, refined, honourable and virtuous, and of consi- 
derable wealth. It shuts out many noblemen of far 
descended honours; and it admits not a few who have 
nothing but wealth to recommend them. What then? 
Does it not thus give to wealth at least the semblance 
of superiority over those personal qualities which men 
have heretofore been accustomed -to respect? Does it 
not elevate the gilded crest of the millionaire above the 
coronet of the noble ? Does it not teach the noble him- 
self, who belongs to the clique, to feel more pride in 
being the lord of thousands, than in being a lord of 
parliament? 

But is wealth, in truth, thus raised to a higher place 
in the respect of the world ? No. Nobility is but de- 
graded by it. Wealth insolently sneers at nobility in 
in rags; and nobility, in turn, galled by the sneer, and 
seeking to conciliate the countenance of wealth, de- 
grades itself in the eyes of the multitude, by seeking 
the alliance of gilded infamy. But for the ascendant 
of wealth in the world of fashion, it could hardly be 
expected, that a peer, of the highest rank, and of royal 
lineage, would dishonour his order, by sharing his title 
with a prostitute, whom a rich banker had first made 
his mistress, and then his wife. In doing this he out- 
raged the opinions and feelings of his equals in rank, 



209 

and degraded nobility, in the estimation of the lower 
orders, that he might secure a place in that society, in 
which wealth is the great condition of membership. How 
many examples of this sort would be necessary, to 
bring the peerage into contempt, by making it manifest, 
that the honours of the peer are contemptible in his 
own eyes, when compared with the gilded splendours, 
in which the low-born and base may outshine him? 
Such an instance, did it stand alone, would be the 
theme of gossip for a week, and then, the parties having 
been consigned to infamy, would be forgotten. Such 
would be the result among ourselves. A man of respec- 
table name offending in the like kind, would never dare 
to look any gentleman in the face again. The history 
of the affair might be found in some scandalous chroni- 
cle, but I should not offend your self-respect, or my 
own, by speaking of it here. 

But it does not stand alone. There may be no other 
exactly like it, but it belongs to a class, and is one of 
the many symptoms of a disease in the body social, 
which infects the body politic, and endangers its exist- 
ence. The example itself may arise from peculiarities 
in the character or circumstances of the individual. 
But the manner in which society receives it is indepen- 
dent of these. That such things should be endured by 
the most refined, enlightened, and moral class, of a 
most moral nation, is a fact that may well provoke our 
special wonder, and proves the existence of some deep- 
seated, potent, and pernicious influence. 

The cause is certainly not to be found in the moral 
character of the nobility of England. Far from it. 
There is, perhaps, no class of men in the world, which, 
taken as a whole, is distinguished by so high a tone of 
morality and honour; certainly none of such refinement 
and delicacv of manners and sentiment. There is no 
class, so abounding in men of distinguished talents, 
whether elegant or useful, and by every quality fitted 
to secure respect and influence. What shall we say, 
when we see that gilded infamy has the audacity to 
claim a social equality with such men, and power to 
enforce its claims ? What and whence is this power ? 
18* 



210 

We cannot doubt that nobility submits reluctantly. 
And what is the necessity that compels submission, but 
one that grows inevitably out of the actual condition of 
property ? 

Fifty years ago it was said of the king of England 
that he was simply the first gentleman in his dominions. 
This was his highest praise as a man. His tastes and 
amusements were those of an English gentleman. He 
amused a part of his leisure with a little farm; he rode 
on horseback quietly and nearly alone, and joined the 
chase, and followed the hounds like an English squire. 
It was his duty and his pride to be, in his manners and 
habits, what every good man would wish to be, and 
what every man of independent property might be. 

Is this the example set by royalty at this day ? The 
morality of the court is of course elevated, as it always 
must be under a female sovereign who cherishes the 
appropriate virtues of her sex. But, in all things else, 
royalty itself is compelled to conform to the prevailing 
taste- of the age, which demands, not more that the 
queen should be distinguished by maidenly and ma- 
tronly virtue, than that she should eclipse all the world 
in splendour. Elizabeth on horseback, at the camp of 
Tilbury, was not more characteristic of England then, 
than Victoria dazzling the eyes of kings and emperors 
with her magnificence, of England now. England, 
proud of military glory, demanded that her ruler, 
though a woman, should display a martial spirit. Eng- 
land, proud of wealth, demands, at this day, a like 
conformity to her tastes. The crown is the focus of 
the nation's glory, and, according to the character of 
that, it glitters with gems, or is shaded by the warrior's 
plume. 

We trace the same change in France from Henry IV. 
to Louis XV. To both the people were alike loyal, 
and the nation boasted, not more of the victories and 
martial renown of the first, than of the splendid court 
of the latter. But it was the pride of Henry that every 
peasant should have a fowl in his pot: while the French 
peasant, under Louis, had to console himself, that, 
though he himself was starving, his king, who dined in 



211 

public, for the gratification of his subjects, fared more 
sumptuously than any prince in Europe. Poor conso- 
lation this! With a vain people, yet remembering the 
glories of the last reign, it served the turn for awhile. 
But it could not last, and it did not last. 

How long shall the present state of things continue 
in England, before the multitude will see nothing in 
nobility but wealth, fortified by political power, valu- 
able only to itself, used but for the single purpose of 
amassing and securing wealth? And this wealth is 
now to be depended on, to inspire that necessary awe 
of which military prowess and military renown were 
once the objects! They will look upon it with such 
awe as a pack of wolves may feel in the presence of a 
fat bison. His shaggy front and pointed horns are 
indeed, awful; but they remember that he is fat, and 
their awe is all forgotten. Will a ravening populace 
be kept at bay, by being reminded of that which marks 
nobility as their natural prey ? 

Superstition, musing on the folly of such reliance, 
might regard this as an instance of that preternatural 
infatuation with which Heaven is sometimes pleased to 
visit those it dooms to destruction." "Quern Deus vult 
perdere, prius dementat." Under the shelter of a con- 
stitution, contrived to protect the rights of all men in 
all conditions, property has found security, and in- 
creased and multiplied, till it has grown so portly, that 
it scorns the protection it enjoys, and pours contempt 
on its defenders, and encourages the multitude to scoff 
at the antiquated absurdity of hereditary honours and 
hereditary respect. Its type is the deer in the fable, 
who devoured the leaves of the vine that sheltered him, 
and laid himself open to the eye and the shaft of the 
hunter. 

But there is no need to look to preternatural causes. 
No visitation from on high is necessary to enhance the 
folly which unbounded wealth and unbounded indul- 
gence rarely fail to engender. Where these are found, 
the folly and insolence, that provoke contempt and 
hatred, and invite destruction, are never wanting. Nor 
are there wanting plausibilities enough to gloss over 



212 

this folly. The sums paid for bread, to be thrown to 
dogs, pay the ploughman's wages, and multitudes of 
artisans are fed by the extravagance which spends itself 
in the costly productions of art. So says political 
economy. Patriotism too puts in a word and suggests, 
that, out of all this waste, a large per centage goes to 
pay the national debt. And so the rich man folds his 
purple robe complacently about him, fares sumptuously 
every day, and heeds not the groan of the beggar at his 
gate, except as an annoyance to his comfort. From this 
he at last seeks relief by means of alms-houses and 
work-houses, where the peccant matter, which, before, 
did but deform the surface of society with sores and 
blotches, ic pent up, till it fester into deep-seated ulcers, 
preying on the vitals of the state. How little there is 
of sincerity in the pretext offered on behalf of his 
heartless waste, is proved by the impatience of the 
rich under the just and salutary operation of the in- 
come tax. 

The true constitutional idea of taxation is that of a 
free gift to the wants of the state. The assent of the 
tax-payer is indeed, very often, a legal fiction; but, 
like all such fictions, it does no man any wrong, so long 
as it imputes to him only an assent to that to which in- 
terest and duty make it right that he should assent. 
So long as the tax takes only from him who has some- 
thing to spare, and from him only a fair rateable pro- 
portion of what he has to spare, he has no right to com- 
plain. But what shall we say, when, by means of im- 
posts and excises levied on all the articles which enter 
into the subsistence of the very beggar, he is made to 
share his scanty meal with the tax-gatherer ? Is there 
any interest, any duty, calling on him to contribute 
something, and then go again on charity to make up the 
deficiency ? Does the fiction of law which imputes to 
the poor woman an agreement to admit a sixth share of 
the potato she was about to divide among her five chil- 
dren, do her no wrong? Justice and policy both de- 
mand that all such impositions be swept away, and their 
place supplied by taxes which shall fall on superfluity 
alone, the only proper fund for taxation. 

The income tax, conceived in this spirit, does credit 



213 

to the wisdom of its author. It shows that he is aware 
of the nature of the disease of the state and under- 
stands its treatment. The resistance of those, who 
represent the great interests he is labouring to protect, 
shows something of the difficulties with which he has to 
contend. Could he rescue the higher orders from the 
dominion of their own sordid extravagance, he might 
save them from being, in the end, trampled down under 
the feet of the insurgent multitude. How he will suc- 
ceed remains to be seen. 

It is in no invidious, and, I trust, in no presumptu- 
ous spirit, that I have endeavoured to place you in full 
view of the difficulties and dangers, which, at this mo- 
ment, environ the freest, the most enlightened, the most 
virtuous, the most prosperous, and the best governed 
country in the old world. I have done this in order to 
free your minds from the erroneous idea so prevalent in 
this country, that the business of constitutions and go- 
vernments is one of extreme simplicity. Boys not long 
escaped from the nursery, where they used to play at 
" kings and queens," are encouraged to continue in the 
childish notion, that the crown, the sceptre, and the 
throne, constitute the whole of kinghood ; and that 
all the art and mystery of free government may be re- 
solved into the divine right of a majority to do its plea- 
sure in all things. My labour has been in vain, gentle- 
men, if, by this time, you have not learned to think differ- 
ently. If I have succeeded in impressing you with a 
due sense of the importance and difficulty of the sub- 
ject of our studies, you are then prepared to go into the 
examination of our own political constitutions in a spi- 
rit which rarely fails to find the wisdom it seeks. You 
may not find that political Utopia, "the best form of 
government:" you may not become adepts in "the art 
of government made easy:" but I trust you will be pre- 
pared to learn that the best institutions owe all their 
value to their adaptation to the character, habits and 
wants of the people, and all their permanency to the 
preservation of those qualities in the people which first 
made them fit to live under such institutions. Thus 
prepared, you will see the necessity of studying our 



214 

own constitution, not by the light of any theory, nor by 
that of any history, ancient or modern, but the history 
of its founders, and the circumstances in which they 
were placed, and to look for the dangers that threaten 
it, in the changes of our social condition. 

Before dismissing this subject, I beg leave to guard 
myself against one misconstruction. I am far from 
feeling al I the confidence my words may seem to import, 
in some of the ideas I have expressed. My wish was 
to convey them distinctly and clearly to your minds, 
and therefore, at the hazard of being thought presump- 
tuous, I have sought only to express myself clearly, 
avoiding that doubting, apologetic, deferential, bowing 
style, which may indeed be most consistent with good 
manners, but so much weakens and dilutes the mean- 
ing, and not unfrequently wearies and disgusts the 
reader. Without this explanation, I might have seemed 
to have fallen into the very error, against which I am 
mainly anxious to guard you. 

To all that I have said, to show the difficulties, in 
which the science of government is involved, some will 
think a ready answer is to be found in the simplicity 
and efficiency of our own political structures. To these 
I have but to say, that the experiment of free govern- 
ment was set on foot, by our fathers, under circum- 
stances more advantageous than have ever fallen to the 
lot of any other men. Of these I shall speak in my 
next lecture. 



LECTURE XII. 

In my last lecture I intimated that I should, at this 
time, call your attention to some of the circumstances 
which had afforded facilities to the problem of free 
government in the United States. 

Foremost among these was the training to which the 
minds of the people had been subjected, before they 
took upon themselves the task of self-government. The 



215 

great emigration, which laid the foundation of the pros- 
perity of the colonies, took place chiefly about the time 
of the civil wars in England, and immediately after- 
wards. You are aware that these wars did not grow 
out of the contentions of rival candidates for the crown, 
nor was the ostensible object of the struggle on either 
side, the advancement of the ambitious schemes of any 
aspirant to political power. The controversy was about 
the principles of government; the conflicting rights of 
the different orders of the state; the prerogatives of the 
crown, and the chartered privileges of the people. The 
parties to those wars were, for the most part, enlisted 
on behalf of principles; and as men do not lightly enter 
into engagements which bring life and property, and 
earthly honour into peril, it is to be presumed that the 
principles for which so much was put to hazard were 
well considered. In religious wars, every man, ac- 
cording to the measure of his understanding, is apt to 
be a theologian. In wars undertaken on behalf of po- 
litical rights and principles, every man may be expected 
to become in like manner somewhat familiar with the 
science of government. The subject perhaps had never 
before in any country been so much discussed, and the 
few authors of that time, whose writings have come 
down to us, display a familiarity with it; at times a 
profundity of thought; at times an ingenuity of so- 
phistry which might be instructive to us at this day. 

It was under the influence of opinions formed in this 
severe school, that the foundations of the colonial govern- 
ments were laid, and hence there will be found in the 
early history of some of the states, a remarkable con- 
formity of their laws and institutions to the political 
views of that party in England to which the inhabitants 
respectively had belonged. New England, we know, 
was at first settled entirely by men, who, despairing of 
success in any struggle with regal power, came over to 
America in quest of personal and religious freedom. 
The nucleus of the colony of Virginia, on the other 
hand, was a royal charter, an incorporated company, 
constituting a body politic, of which the king was the 
head. Virginia, therefore, when the cause of royalty 



216 

declined, received great accessions of population from 
among those who could not endure to live under the 
stern rule of the protector. Hence we find, in New 
England, the theory of democracy carried into practice 
to an extent known nowhere else; while in Virginia, 
the essential liberty which the condition of the country 
made it impossible to restrain, was blended with respect 
for the royal authority, and such an imitation of the 
forms of the regal constitution as the nature of the case 
admitted of. In one or two particulars there was in- 
deed a seeming invasion of natural right, in each sec- 
tion, but even these do but more clearly show that the 
people had learned to attend to the substance of things, 
and to accommodate their legislation to their actual 
condition. 

To one of these I have already adverted. I mean 
the denial of suffrage in Virginia to all but land-holders. 
But I have explained to you that at first the settlement 
of the colony was an affair of pecuniary speculation; 
that its management, on all the principles of meumsmd 
tuum^ belonged to the owners; and that while they per- 
mitted the presence of men having no interest in the 
concern, it did not follow that they should allow any 
voice in its direction to those, who, having no property 
in the country, had no share in the partnership. 

On New England, on the other hand, it has been 
charged as a gross inconsistency, that men flying from 
another country in quest of religious freedom, should 
have founded a new government for themselves, under 
which restraints were imposed on the rights of con- 
science. But nothing can be more unjust than this. 
The people who fled to that inhospitable wilderness, 
and reclaimed it for their use, had an undoubted right 
to exclude from the particular section which they had 
thus appropriated, every thing which might defeat the 
purpose of all their toils, dangers and privations. To 
say that only one form of religion should be tolerated 
among a people, all understanding^ and zealously de- 
voted to that form, was but to admonish others of a dif- 
ferent faith to go elsewhere to seek a home for them- 
selves. The wisdom of such a step among a people 



217 

sore with the recent experience of the strifes arising 
from religious differences of opinion, cannot be ques- 
tioned. The advantage of it is manifest to this day. 
It operated as a means of exclusion to all those incon- 
gruous materials which might have endangered the har- 
mony of the community; the influence of that particular 
form of religion on the habits of its professors has had 
the effect of securing the manners of society from 
change, and has thus preserved more of the. desirable 
adaptation of the habits of a people to their political 
institutions than is to be found elsewhere. 

I advert to these things for the purpose of showing 
that the founders of the colonial institutions were men 
who understood the maxims of right and the principles 
of government in their reasons, and valued them not as 
abstractions, but for what they were worth. 

In other particulars there was much in the institu- 
tions of the colonies, which seems unfavourable to 
liberty, to those who judge superficially of human na- 
ture. It looks like paradox, that the genius of demo- 
cracy, which had led the northern pilgrims into the 
wilderness, and presided over the establishment of their 
colonial governments, should have permitted the erec- 
tion of a system of laws, the restraints of which ex- 
tended to the domestic habits, the deportment, and 
even the dress of individuals. The phenomenon is to 
be explained by reflecting that the recent experience of 
the colonists had been of tyranny and misrule asso- 
ciated with licentiousness. Economy, sobriety, and a 
staid and sober demeanour, had been badges by which 
their party had been accustomed to distinguish itself in 
the mother country; and every form of licentiousness 
was connected in their minds with all that was fatal to 
liberty. They easily persuaded themselves that in sub- 
mitting to the rigid rule of puritanism, they exercised 
the most perfect freedom, and the liberty they learned 
to love was liberty regulated by law. It was in this 
same school in which they had been trained, that the 
celebrated Mr. Locke learned his grand maxim, that 
"where there is no law, there is no liberty." 

The infancy of government is generally the infancv 
19 



218 

of society, and man— his habits unformed, his mind 
unenlightened, his passions unsubdued, and thus com- 
mitted to self-government — is like the orphan heir of 
rank and wealth, 

"Left by his sire, too young the loss to know, 
Lord of himself — that heritage of wo." 

Compared with such, the puritan society of New Eng- 
land, was like the father of the human race, (ushered 
into life in the full maturity of all his faculties,) and 
placed under the guidance of God himself, ever present 
in his word, in a place prepared for its reception. That 
place was not indeed an Eden, for the soil was sterile, 
and the climate stern; and the forbidden fruits were 
only such, as, in a former state of existence, they had 
learned to loathe. The result was that the experiment 
in government which they had devised for the mixed 
society of the mother country, where it failed, was with 
them completely successful. Hence the revolution 
found them practically acquainted with the important 
truth, that a democratic form of government is perfectly 
consistent with the strictest discipline of society, and 
the most complete subordination of will and appetite to 
the dominion of law, of which man is capable. 

On the other hand, the people of the southern colo- 
nies brought with them, along with habitual impatience 
of restraint, much of that high, enthusiastic, and pas- 
sionate loyalty, which makes obedience liberal, by 
engaging pride on behalf of authority. The spirit of 
personal freedom was perhaps never stronger than in 
the high-minded cavalier, who, recognising in his royal 
master a divine right to his obedience, rendered his 
homage with the eager zeal of an idolator. In security 
to the rights of property, and exemption from personal 
restraint, he saw all of freedom for which he cared; 
and whether the government which afforded these ad- 
vantages was administered by king or consul, was to 
him an affair rather of taste than policy. The situation 
of these high spirited gentlemen in the colony of Vir- 
ginia was highly favourable to the preservation of their 
passion for liberty thus understood. Thrown by provi- 



219 

dence into an extensive and fertile region, abounding 
with the necessaries and even the luxuries of life, they 
scattered themselves over its surface, each pursuing his 
own objects, each seeking his own gratification accord- 
ing to his peculiar taste. Had they before doubted it, 
they must have thus become sensible, that, in such a 
state of things, there is no authority which can essen- 
tially interfere with the enjoyment of personal liberty. 
Hence it happened that when the absurd superstition 
which represented the royal authority as a thing of 
divine appointment, was exploded; and when the per- 
sonal loyalty of the old cavaliers to the Stuarts, was 
either forgotten by their descendents, or exchanged for 
a spirit of hostility to the house of Hanover; there was 
nothing in the power of the kingly office at all offen- 
sive to their feelings. The colonial government there- 
fore adapted itself to this leading principle; such dis- 
tinctions of rank as the condition of society admitted 
were cheerfully recognised; such privileges as a regard 
to the rights of property called for, were freely given; 
and the very men, who were soon to show themselves 
to be deep read in the philosophy of free government, 
and the ardent votaries of liberty, continued, up to the 
very dawn of the revolution, sincere in their appeals 
from the tyranny of the parliament to the protection of 
the king. The invasion of the rights of property by 
the unauthorized taxation of the British legislature was 
all they complained of; and when they determined to 
resist this usurpation, they found hardly any thing to 
change in the frame of their government. I shall here- 
after have occasion to speak more particularly of this. 
At present I merely advert to it, to show you, that 
while experience had convinced the inhabitant of New 
England, that law and discipline are consistent with 
freedom; a like experience had taught the Virginian, 
that under favourable circumstances the spirit of free- 
dom and the actual enjoyment of freedom may exist 
and flourish in defiance of the forms of government.* 

* We here find the means of accounting for two remarkable 
facts. In those states of the Union whose constitutions most 



220 

In these considerations, we find the reason why in 
the formation of the new constitutions of the newly 
independent states, there is such an utter disregard of 
theoretical perfection, and such an attention to expe- 
diency, fitness, and the actual condition of things. 

Another circumstance highly favourable to a suc- 
cessful experiment on free government was the essen- 
tial equality of property. The condition of a new 
country in which vast quantities of fertile lands lie 
unappropriated, renders the extreme of poverty impos- 
sible except in case of age and decrepitude. The 
poverty which drives men to madness, and renders a 
strong government necessary to the protection of pro- 
perty, is, as we have seen, that which denies the neces- 
saries, or at least the comforts, of life to him who is 
able and willing to work for them, and, in such a coun- 
try, poverty in that degree is plainly impossible. 

The opposite extreme of wealth disproportioned to 
the general condition of the community was equally 
unknown. We hear of such things, and we know that 
individuals then held property now yielding princely 
revenues. But we deceive ourselves if we suppose that 
the possession of this property was in itself great wealth 
to its former owners. Even since the revolution the 
wild lands of Virginia have been appropriated at two 
cents per acre. What then was their value when ap- 
propriated? The certainty that it would in the end be 
valuable, and the probability of its rapid appreciation, 
tempted men of enterprise and long views to locate 
largely on speculation. But these were, for the most 
part, men of limited resources, who having laid out all 
their money in the purchase of land, were constrained 
to sell again at a small advance to obtain the means of 
living. How else is it, that so little remains of wealth 
to the descendants of those who once owned principali- 

strictly conformed to the democratic model, there is the least 
toleration for licentiousness, and the most severe and searching 
discipline of law. In those where this model is less regarded, 
and where still some traces of aristocratic distinction may be 
discovered, the spirit of personal freedom is most high and 
haughty, and most impatient of legal restraints. 



221 

ties ? I know that the common account of the matter 
is, that it was wasted in the unbounded hospitality and 
luxurious and ostentatious habits of the gentry of the 
country. But on this subject we have evidence that 
cannot deceive us. The dwellings of our fathers are 
among us; and in them we see no marks of that passion 
for splendour and display which is imputed to them. 
And how many men are there among us at this day, 
who could not find room to spend half their incomes in 
such houses? I know something of the history of some 
of our oldest and wealthiest families; and, to my mind, 
the partition of their estates among their descendants 
sufficiently explains the fact that none of them are in 
possession of any very great wealth. Yet this partition 
lias perhaps not more than kept pace with the apprecia- 
tion of property, and it would not be difficult to find 
examples of men more wealthy in the possession of a 
part of their father's estate, than the father himself had 
been with the whole. 

An example within my own personal knowledge will 
illustrate this matter. A younger son of a large and 
respectable family was bred to a trade. By industry 
and economy he acquired money enough to employ a 
judicious and faithful agent, by whose aid he took up 
half a million of acres of the best land in the state, 
about an hundred years ago. He then determined to 
live the life of a gentleman; and in creating and main- 
taining the proper establishment, he made it necessary 
to sell out, at a moderate advance, a large portion of 
his land. More still was sold to purchase the slaves 
necessary for the improvement of the rest. This was 
done most judiciously, and, having managed his affairs 
with prudence and skill, he died, leaving a handsome 
estate to each of his numerous children. Most of these 
wasted their patrimony. None improved it. One of 
these in his life got rid of two-thirds of his property, 
and of the residue half descended to one of his sons, 
who, to the day of his death, derived from his small 
portion a larger regular income than his father or grand- 
father had ever enjoyed. 

I feel mvself warranted then in saving, that the revo- 
19* 



222 

lution found the property of Virginia estimated by its 
exchangeable value at the time at least as equal as it is 
at this day; and there is certainly nothing in the state 
of property among us at this time, which requires for 
its protection the establishment of any privileged order 
in the state. Hence I have said that at that period 
there existed among us no such inequality of property 
as was unfavourable to a fair experiment on free go- 
vernment. 

The advantage of this state of things to the success 
of their experiment can only be duly estimated by re- 
calling much of what I have already said. We have 
but to suppose that the inequality then existing had 
been such as exists in most European kingdoms. Let 
it have been such as that the superfluity of the rich 
should always seem to insult the distresses of the poor; 
let that which the first could spare without missing it, 
have been more than the latter could hope to acquire 
by a whole life of toil, and it will be seen that the one 
would be ever anxiously engaged in contriving and 
erecting barriers against encroachments, which the 
other, with equal eagerness, would labour to over- 
throw. Here would have been a strife as fierce and 
concentred as that of the Greeks and Trojans over the 
dead body of Patroclus; an eagerness of attack and a 
vigilance of defence, like that which took place at the 
vulnerable point, "where the wild fig-trees joined the 
wall of Troy." In such a contest, what becomes of 
that harmony on which the proper adjustment of the 
powers of government depends? Adjust them as you 
may, how long will it be, even under the most firmly 
established constitution, before each of the contending 
parties will lose all regard for the common welfare, in 
an exclusive zeal for its own distinctive interests? 
How long will either be unwilling to lend itself to the 
political views of any leader who may promise to re- 
quite its support by favouring its claims? How long 
will it be before Pompey at the head of the aristocracy, 
and Caesar at the head of the populace, will be seen 
contending whether the patricians or the plebeians 
shall give a master to the commonweath. 



223 

As in the condition of things at that time there was 
nothing that called for orders in the state, so, in point 
of fact, none such existed. Before the revolution the 
people of Virginia were well enough disposed for such 
things. I have shown jou that there was nothing in 
royalty inconsistent with their notions of liberty; and 
they doubtless were not without a taste for those dis- 
tinctions which the breath of royalty confers. But 
none such were known to the laws of the colony. The 
king who created peers of his kingdoms of England, 
Scotland and Ireland, created no peers of his kingdom 
of Virginia. We had indeed an English peer, and some 
English baronets among us, and they claimed their 
titles, which were respectfully recognised. But here 
they were but commoners, as an Irish peer is but a 
commoner in England. Their rank availed them no 
more than that of a French marquis or a Spanish count. 
Such of them as chose to remain here lost nothing by 
the revolution. Their title was all they could ever 
claim among us, and the same courtesy which acknow- 
ledged that before the revolution was still extended to 
them — and with reason. They were still as much lords 
and baronets as they had ever been, and if they chose 
to go to England, would have the same rights of rank 
as before. That concerned us not. They interfered 
with none of our rights. We had not given them, and 
we could not take them away. That such distinctions 
were coveted, I doubt not; and we did what we could 
to ape them. Everything that could be made to sound 
like a title was eagerly caught at, and the nominal rank 
of general, colonel, and captain, in the. militia, was 
sought with avidity and jealousy, claimed as part and 
parcel of the style of the fortunate possessor. But in 
this there was nothing at all unfavourable to the intro- 
duction of free government. Such rank was purely 
official, and, as all offices were open to all men, no man 
in the community held any rank to which any other 
man might not aspire, as well before as since the revo- 
lution. 

From the combined operation of these causes it re- 
sulted that that which we familiarly call the revolution, 



224 

was, in fact, no revolution at all. It was nothing more 
than a severance of the tie which had united the colo- 
nies to the mother country. Within the body of the 
community itself no change took place, and conse- 
quently there was nothing to give rise to the innu- 
merable mischiefs which attend internal changes. If 
we take, for example, the constitution of Virginia, we 
shall find that no man lost his property, his place in 
society, or even his place in the commonwealth. The 
only political change was that which supplied an execu- 
tive head to the state, in place of the royal governor. 
But this indispensable step amounted to no more than 
the nullification of the powers conferred by a foreign 
authority upon one not himself a member of the com- 
munity. Had he been so, and had he remained in the 
state, it was net impossible that he might endeavour to 
engage his friends in some attempt to recover his lost 
authority. As it was, there was no room for anything 
of the sort. He had gone home to his master to render 
an account of his stewardship, and to end his days in 
the peaceful enjoyment of his hereditary honours and 
estates. This was the only change of a strictly politi- 
cal character; and, this change being made, the people 
did not enter on a new and untried state of things, but 
went on to administer their former institutions in the 
same forms, nearly in the same spirit, and, for the most 
part, by the same hands as before. The change was 
analogous to that the child undergoes, when severed 
from the mother. It now derives the vivifying influence 
of the air from the action of its own lungs, and sus- 
tains itself by its own digestien. But it is no new 
creation of that moment. The brain, the heart, the 
great and the lesser organs all retain the same nature 
and structure; they all preserve their former relations, 
and perform the same functions as before. 

As the executive branch of the government alone de- 
rived its authority from the royal fiat, there was not the 
same reason for abolishing the powers of any but the 
executive officers. Accordingly, others were not dis- 
turbed. The importance of contriving a second branch 
of the legislative body led to the creation of the state 



225 

senate; but the other house retained in all particulars 
its primitive ante-revolutionary constitution. It was 
simply declared that the right of suffrage should be as 
before, and that each county, without regard to extent, 
wealth or population, should be represented as before 
by two members. The want of a judiciary system for 
the satisfactory decision of important controversies, 
and the final adjustment of disputed questions of law, 
had long been felt, and the occasion was seized on as 
proper for the supply of this want. But this system 
was a new creation, and its establishment deprived no 
man of place or power. The great body of judicial 
power in the colony had been exercised by the county 
courts; and of these it was simply declared that their ju- 
risdiction should be as before. The constitution of those 
courts is itself an anomaly in our system, but in that 
no change was made; no new provision was enacted for 
the appointment of their members, and the authority of 
the actual incumbents was perpetuated by an ordinance 
of the same convention that framed and adopted the 
constitution. They were not even appointed anew, but 
continued to exercise their powers under their old com- 
missions. The same principle was extended to the 
holders of lucrative clerkships, who were considered 
as having an estate in their offices, with which the le- 
gislature had no right to interfere. So far indeed was 
this carried, that when, not long after the revolution, a 
law was passed, for the first time, requiring clerks to 
keep their offices at the court-houses of their respective 
counties, these ante-revolutionary officers were excepted 
out of its operation, as having a right to enjoy their 
offices with all the privileges and immunities belonging 
to them when first conferred. 

It is therefore strictly true that no member of the 
community lost his property, his place in society, or his 
place in the commonwealth by the revolution. In such 
a revolution there is nothing to embitter the feelings of 
men against each other. There is no strife of orders, 
no change in the mutual relations of individuals, no 
confiscations, no judicial murder, no sacrifices of the 
energetic, the bold, the enlightened, the wise and the 



226 

virtuous, whose very excellencies make them obnoxious 
to their opponents, as either party by turn prevails. 
The heats of such a revolution, so far from dissolving 
the cement of society, seem rather to weld together, in 
more perfect union, parts, which before had been rather 
connected than amalgamated. The commonwealth loses 
in such a struggle nothing but what the undistinguish- 
ing chance of war may sweep away. How different 
this from the havoc made, when the sword of justice is 
wrested from her hand, and used, in her name, and ac- 
cording; to her forms to execute the malignant, inte- 
rested, and discriminating vengeance of a triumphant 
faction! The victims of war are, for the most part, 
those, who do but cumber the earth, and who, had they 
escaped, would have presently fallen with the leaf of 
autumn. The victims whom the forms of justice sacri- 
fice to the demon of party, are the wise, the brave, the 
good, the props and pillars, and ornaments of the state. 
What was there in a change such as I have described, 
to excite those stormy and contentious feelings in the 
breast of individuals which might disturb the delibera- 
tions of the framers of the new government ? Nothing 
whatever. In internal revolutions the powers ot go- 
vernment are necessarily wrested from the hands of 
those accustomed to wield them, and committed to men 
unpracticed in the business of legislation and command. 
Not so here. The men who first moved in the revolu- 
tion, and adopted the measure and carried it through, 
were themselves the rulers of the land. They did but 
continue to act in the same sphere, and with nearly the 
same powers to which use and practice had familiarized 
them. The country availed itself of every thing of 
virtue and wisdom and experience that had already re- 
commended itself to the confidence and respect of the 
people, and the spirit of innovation was therefore re- 
strained by the partiality with which men cling to insti- 
tutions, with the working of which, they are practically 
acquainted. Can we wonder then at our exemption 
from those evils which render the idea of revolution 
terrible to the minds of the wise and prudent? Shall 
we take pride to ourselves in this, and exultingly com- 



227 

pare the sobriety, and -discretion, and justice, and hu- 
manity, which presided over our councils, with the pas- 
sion and extravagance, and rapacity and cruelty, which 
characterize all the other revolutions of which we read 
in history? Above all, shall \m indulge the fond and 
foolish thought, that, should things again go wrong among 
us, the same remedy may be again applied with the 
like advantage, and with the same exemption, from evil? 

1 am aware that they who would fondly imagine the 
people of these states exempt from the frailties and 
errors of humanity may ask me why these things were 
so. Why did the spirit of innovation stop short of 
those changes which remove men from their stations 
in the government; which degrade them from their 
place in society; which dishonour them, and strip them 
of their property ? The answer to these questions is, 
in part, already given. The grievances which produced 
the revolution, had not their rise in any diversity of 
rank, for there was none ; nor in the oppression of the 
lower classes by the higher, for none such existed. The 
evil indeed was rather speculative than actual, and the 
readiness with which it was encountered, proved only 
how truly it had been said that the people of the colonies 
augured misgovernment at a distance, and snuffed the 
approach of tyranny in every tainted breeze. 

Far be it then from me to disparage the worth and 
wisdom of the extraordinary men raised up, in that 
emergency to assert our rights. It becomes us to re- 
member, with grateful pride, how, in the discussions 
which terminated in the revolution, they had so con- 
ducted themselves, as to command even the admiration 
of their enemies, The political state-papers put forth 
by them during the progress of the controversy; the 
petitions, addresses, remonstrances, and manifestos of 
the different public bodies in the colonies, show a depth 
of research into the history of English liberty and a 
familiarity with its principles, which the ablest of Eng- 
lish statesmen witnessed with astonishment and ap- 
plause. To these qualities they added a decent and 
tempered zeal in the cause of freedom, such as nothing 
but a practical experience of its value can impart. 



228 

Their conduct was not that of men who are led away 
by a name; who go in chase of an abstraction; a fanci- 
ful, though beautiful idea, to which there may be nothing 
corresponding in the realities of life. They moved as 
in pursuit of an object "Well understood and estimated 
at its true worth. In all their publications there is 
nothing vague, nothing imaginative, nothing declama- 
tory. They perfectly understood the principles of 
English law. They were fully aware that these prin- 
ciples, in their operation on the advanced society and 
established diversities of rank in the mother country, 
had become the instruments of oppression. But they 
saw, at the same time, that in the actual condition of 
things among themselves, they would afford an effectual 
security for present freedom and happiness. For these, 
therefore, and for these alone, they at first contended, 
willing to trust the future for such changes in the sys- 
tem, as might adapt it to the future wants of the com- 
munity. They demanded, at first, only to be restored 
to the rights, privileges and franchises, which they 
claimed as their birth-right, as Englishmen. Above all, 
and instar omnium, they demanded the recognition of 
that great fundamental principle of the English govern- 
ment, of which I have already spoken so much at large. 
I mean the principle that no man's property can be 
taken, by taxes or otherwise, but by his own consent. 
The history of the day will show that they understood 
this maxim, and have explained it. It will show that 
they valued it, not merely as a safeguard of property 
for its own sake, but because they had learned, from 
history and experience, that, thus guarded, property is 
the best safeguard of liberty. They knew, that, as I 
have shown you, it had furnished the price by which all 
concessions in favour of freedom had been first ob- 
tained; and they had seen that it was by rallying to 
the support of this principle in the time of Charles I. 
that the people had been brought to act with that una- 
nimity which enabled them to oppose effectual resist- 
ance to the progress of usurpation. 

"The colonists," said Mr. Burke, in his speech for 
conciliation with America, "are not only devoted to 



229 

liberty, but to liberty according to English ideas, and 
on English principles. Abstract liberty, like other 
mere abstractions, is not to be found. Liberty inheres 
in some sensible object, and every nation has formed to 
itself some favourite point, which, by way of eminence, 
becomes the criterion of their happiness. It happened 
that the great contests for freedom, in this country, 
were, from the earliest times, chiefly on the question of 
taxing. Most of the contests in the ancient common- 
wealths turned primarily on the right of election of ma- 
gistrates; or on the balance among the several orders 
of the state. The question of money was not, with 
them, so immediate. But in England it was otherwise. 
On this point of taxes the ablest pens and most elo- 
quent tongues have been exercised; the greatest spirits 
have acted and suffered. In order to give the fullest 
satisfaction concerning the importance of this point, it 
was not only necessary for those, who in argument de- 
fended the excellence of the English constitution, to 
insist on this privilege of granting money, as a dry 
point of fact, and to prove, that the right had been ac- 
knowledged, in ancient parchments and blind usages, 
to reside in a certain body called a house of commons. 
They went much farther; they attempted to prove, and 
they succeeded, that, in theory, it ought to be so, from 
the particular nature of a house of commons, as the 
immediate representative of the people; whether the old 
records had delivered this oracle or not. They took 
infinite pains to inculcate, as a fundamental principle, 
that, in all monarchies, the people must in effect, them- 
selves, mediately or immediately, possess the power of 
granting their own money, or no shadow of liberty 
could subsist. The colonies draw from you, as with 
their life-blood, these ideas and principles. Their love 
of liberty, as with you, fixed and attached on this spe- 
cific point of taxing. Liberty might be safe, or might 
be endangered, in twenty other particulars, without 
their being much pleased or alarmed. Here they felt 
its pulse, and as they found that beat, they thought 
themselves sick or sound." 

Here, gentlemen, you have a just account of the 
20 



230 

point in controversy, on which the revolution turned. 
You will see that it presented a question on which men 
of limited information and narrow views could not have 
been expected to have any opinion at all. The tax of 
3d. per pound on tea might have been laid and levied, 
and the multitude would never have known whether 
they paid it or no. It belongs to statesmen to observe 
that a claim of a right to impose it could only be sus- 
tained on principles fatal to liberty. Hence they called 
the attention of the people to the fact, and endeavoured 
to awaken them to a sense of the importance of the 
principle involved. The chiefs of the land, therefore, 
were the prime movers of the revolution; and it was 
not to be expected that people acting under their 
guidance, and led by them to victory and independence, 
would be in a mood to invade their rights, or to drive 
them from stations so honourably and nobly filled. 

Nor was this all. The very nature of the matter in 
controversy had a tendency to sanctify all the rights of 
all men, and especially the right of all property. It 
was an invasion of this that first provoked resistance, 
and, up to the very day, on which Virginia proclaimed 
her independence, and adopted her constitution, her 
statesmen had called the attention of the world to the 
fact, that the end and aim of all they did, was to pre- 
serve inviolate this sacred right. 

In these considerations you see enough to show that 
there was nothing in the circumstances under which the 
revolution was achieved, to tempt to the least violation 
of any maxim of justice. Every thing favoured the 
adoption of a government by which all men, in all con- 
ditions, should be alike established in the full and se- 
cure enjoyment of all their rights of every kind. 
Nothing had occurred to suggest the necessity of any 
change in these. To be left in the enjoyment of them 
under the laws as they stood was all that the colonists 
had contended for, and having been driven to find re- 
dress in independence, it became them to vindicate 
their sincerity and consistency by respecting all the 
maxims of private right. 

It thus happened that they were in condition to afford 



231 

mankind the benefit of an experiment on government 
of which the history of the world gave no example. 
Never before had a people, enlightened and refined, 
instructed in the principles, and imbued with the mo- 
rality of the gospel, and well experienced in the work- 
ing of a government, at that time esteemed the best on 
earth, enjoyed an opportunity of addressing themselves 
quietly to the task of framing institutions for them- 
selves. They went to their work in perfect harmony, 
for they were of one race, of one religion, speaking the 
same language, not discriminated from each other by 
any artificial distinction of rank, and, for the most part, 
in that happy condition, which is alike exempt from the 
seducing corruptions of affluence, and the exasperating 
bitterness of poverty. They executed their task dis- 
passionately, for they were free from any cause of ex- 
citement among themselves, while all the angry and 
ambitious feelings had full exercise on external objects. 
They executed it in the spirit of justice, for no motive 
could be found to tempt them to do wrong to any man 
or set of men in the community. They executed it 
wisely, for they had been trained under the discipline 
of a domestic government, in the organization and con- 
duct of which ambition had had no room to display 
itself, and there were among them men enjoying all 
the advantages of education and experience, and deeply 
read in all the learning of their day. 

Let us not account it a small matter, gentlemen, that 
the government under which we were born, was the 
work of such men, so circumstanced. Let us culti- 
vate in our minds a grateful sense of our obligations to 
that good providence, by whose dispensation we have 
been thus favoured. Along with the reverence which 
it becomes us to feel for the work of our fathers, let us 
learn to bear in mind that they enjoyed these peculiar 
advantages in the execution of their important task, 
and wisely to distrust our capacity to detect or reform 
any errors into which they may have fallen. That their 
work was not perfect, may have been, only because there 
is no perfection in any of the works of man. I would 
not, for that reason, have you forbear to amend any 



232 

thing, which, in practice, is found to work badly, but I 
would deprecate any innovation introduced through a 
taste for mere theoretical symmetry and perfection. 

Unfortunately, innovation has long since been at work. 
In reviewing what has been done, it will be my busi- 
ness hereafter to show you how often substance has 
been sacrificed to form, and practical advantage sur- 
rendered for seeming good. At present, my purpose is 
to place before you a general view of the true character 
of that peculiar system to which our peculiar circum- 
stances have given birth. 



LECTURE XIII. 

It is now time, gentlemen, that I should call your 
attention to the history and character of our own poli- 
tical institutions. As these, according to the regula- 
tions of this college, form the appropriate subject of 
this branch of my course, it may seem that I owe you 
some apology for having so long detained you with 
speculations on the government of other countries. 

I felt that these speculations afforded a necessary 
preparation for the investigation through which it is my 
business to conduct your minds. Constitutions must 
be studied, not only in the letter, but in the spirit of 
their provisions. To catch this, we must not consider 
them as so many arbitrary enactments prescribed by 
the sic volo of power, but we must endeavour to under- 
stand the circumstances in which their authors were 
placed, and to take a view of all the considerations by 
which it may be supposed that they were influenced. 
Great attention was therefore due to the state of poli- 
tical science in their day, and the degree of light which 
the history and experience of the world, up to that 
time, had shed upon it. Their work is full of proof 
that they considered their, task one of difficulty and 
delicacy. They certainly did not deem the constitu- 



233 

tion of a free government that simple problem, which, 
to the republicans of the French school, it appeared to 
be. There are many too, among ourselves, who seem to 
think that, since our fathers rested from their labours, 
great light has dawned upon the world, and that great 
discoveries in political science, not dreamed of by them, 
have been made. But when we come to examine these, 
and calculate their amount, we shall perhaps find that 
the great arcanum which modern innovation claims to 
have discovered, could not have escaped them. 

If all that is necessary to the preservation as well as 
the establishment of liberty is the empire of numbers, 
we must wonder that any thing but free government 
has ever been known on earth. If the reign of num- 
bers be ^ one thing needful for freedom, it is hard to 
see how^ftedom, once established, should ever be lost. 
In the strifes of men, physical power is on the side of 
numbers; and the tendency of physical power to appro- 
priate to itself political and constitutional power, is 
natural ami obvious. Let the two be united, and what 
can withstand them ? When once joined together, what 
can separate them? If the union of the two be free- 
dom, what can endanger it ? How then has it happened, 
that the history of all the free governments that ever 
existed, is but the history of things that are past? How 
has it been that the triumph of successful experiment 
has been so often proclaimed, and so uniformly followed 
by fatal and disastrous failure? And why is it, that 
men claim for themselves and allow to others the praise 
of the profoundest wisdom, for simply finding out, that 
nothing is necessary but to let nature take her course, 
to suffer physical and political power to gravitate 
toward each other as they always do, and accomplish a 
union as natural and indissoluble as that of the sexes? 

I cannot permit myself to think so meanly of the 
wisdom of our fathers, as to doubt that they had thought 
of these things. They certainly knew, that, where men 
are left to themselves, minorities are habitually ruled by 
majorities; that, in general, they submit to be so ruled; 
and that when they become restive, compulsion supplies 
the place of voluntary submission. They probably 
20* 



234 

thought too that it is better that a few should be op- 
pressed by many, than that many should be oppressed 
by a few. But they may be excused for thinking that 
oppression is a bad thing whoever be the victims, and 
that injustice is offensive to God and man whoever be 
the authors, and whether they be few or many. They 
might be excused for hoping that some means might be 
devised for avoiding these evils. They certainly did 
not mean to consecrate them, by declaring that right 
and wrong should change their natures according to the 
numbers of those engaged in the perpetration of crime. 
To the excellence of their work, it seemed necessary 
that the many should not be subject to the oppression 
of the few, nor the few to the oppression of the many, 
and they felt it their duty not to choose bet^en these 
extremes of evil, but to avoid both. The quwion with 
them was not, which is the worst of the two. It was 
enough that both were bad. The problem was to guard 
against both, and to erect the strongest and loftiest 
barriers on the side of the greatest danger. 

In preparing themselves for the solution of this 
problem they had before them the history of all govern- 
ments, ancient and modern. I have therefore made it 
my business to lay before you some of the considera- 
tions which a view of these might be supposed to have 
suggested. Most of their ideas were necessarily drawn 
from experience of the working of government in that 
country, which, up to that time, was their own. Hence 
I have dwelt particularly on the institutions of that 
country, and their origin and history, and have hinted 
at some of the political lessons to be learned from 
them. In some of these you may perhaps discover the 
considerations which gave to our institutions their 
anomalous character. Taking these for your guide, 
you will rarely fail to find a motive for all that was 
done, though sometimes the means adopted may have 
failed of their object, and sometimes may have intro- 
duced evils the opposite of those against which the 
framers of our institutions sought to guard. 

But I have done more than this. I have sought to 
justify the wisdom and foresight of those able men, by 



235 

showing that thej rightly anticipated the results which 
the working of a part of the English system must pro- 
duce. I have therefore traced these results clown to 
the present day, and though I have not presumed to 
prophecy of that which is to come, I have thought it 
right to show you something of the causes now at work, 
and the effect which those causes may possibly pro- 
duce. In the proper place, I shall endeavour to show 
you that our fathers foresaw these things; and to point 
out to you the means by which they sought"*to avert, 
and at least to delay, as long as possible, the same fatal 
consummation here. If I can succeed in imparting to 
your minds a right understanding of these matters, I 
shall have done much toward saving vou from the com- 
mon error of supposing their work to be of the number 
of things which must necessarily remain imperfect until 
they have received the last finishing touch of excellence 
from your own hands. It is the common error of each 
successive generation, that men think themselves wiser 
and better than their fathers. This error was never 
more countenanced than by the astonishing discoveries 
of undoubted truth which distinguish physical science 
in the present century. Rendered presumptuous by 
these 

"We think our fathers fools ! So wise we grow ! 
Our wiser sons no doubt will think us so." 

However we in our turn may incur this reproach at 
the hands of our posterity, it shall not be my fault, 
gentlemen, if you deserve it, by indulging an over- 
weening conceit of the acquirements of this generation 
in political philosophy, and a mistaken and impious con- 
tempt of the practical, though unlettered wisdom of 
your fathers. 

We may reconcile this to our sense of filial duty by 
the adage, that a dwarf on the shoulders of a giant can 
see farther than the giant himself. But that we may 
have the benefit of this adage, let us be careful to main- 
tain that advantageous position, lest, leaving their 
shoulders, we descend from that high moral elevation 
on which they stood, and in the depths of sloth and 
self-indulgence, and in the mire of profligacy and cor- 



236 

ruption, permit ourselves to think lightly of that wis- 
dom which condemns our follies and our vices. We 
have already changed much; and the spirit of innova- 
tion, far from wearying of its task, has but warmed 
itself to the work. We talk of the march of mind, 
and the advancing condition of society, and to this we 
think government should accommodate itself. 

I have already shown you that government, sooner 
or later, will do this, and when the change is for the 
better, it cannot be done too soon. Not so when the 
change is for the worse. It is then the part of the 
statesman to cherish every institution which may coun- 
teract it, and delay, as long as possible, that fatal con- 
summation when all restraints however desirable, how- 
ever rigidly bound upon society by the frame of govern- 
ment, shall yield to the expansive growth of the germ 
of evil within. We, at this day, say (for men always 
easily persuade themselves, that, in correcting the mis- 
takes and avoiding the faults of their ancestors, they 
retain all their virtue and all their wisdom) that the 
only change in society is a change of progressive im- 
provement. Is this so ? We certainly know much 
that our fathers knew not; and we have corrected some 
of the faults which are apt to accompany plain manners, 
and simplicity and manliness of character. We pos- 
sess much that they wanted, and much more that they 
neither had nor coveted. But it may be seriously 
doubted whether, in the important science of govern- 
ment, we have made any advances beyond that sound 
practical wisdom which made their first acts of legisla- 
tion the admiration of the world. Whether we have 
improved in political virtue is a question susceptible of 
a simple and decisive test. This is to be found in the 
qualities and characters which we desiderate in our 
public servants. If we are more careful than they were 
to select for posts of honour and confidence none but 
men distinguished by probity and virtue in private life; 
if less even than they we can endure to see the honour 
of the republic represented at home or abroad, by such 
as have said to corruption "thou art my father," and to 
infamy "thou art my mother and my sister;" if it has 



237 

become more and more difficult for men, stigmatized 
with foul or atrocious crime to win the favour of the 
people by flattery, address and talent; and if we are 
less and less disposed, in consideration of these, or 
of past services, to overlook dereliction of duty, and 
to pardon him who would sacrifice the public weal to 
the purposes of his own ambition, then are we more 
worthy and more capable of the solemn and awful duty 
of self-government, than they were. If the reverse of 
this be true, we shall be driven to the opposite conclu- 
sion. Should this test lead to a decision against us, 
then there is too much reason to fear that all funda- 
mental changes in our institutions have been the result 
of those struggles between conflicting interests in the 
state, which never commence until the problem of free 
government has become difficult, and its success pre- 
carious; and which never terminate but in the prostra- 
tion of the one or the other, or the subjugation of all 
alike to arbitrary domination. If we have lost any 
thing of the simplicity and plainness of our ancient 
manners; if the objects of ambition are becoming more 
numerous and alluring; if the appetite for gain is more 
eager and engrossing; we may assure ourselves that 
we are passing under the dominion of p^sions, which 
will govern us to our destruction, and hand us over, 
the willing slaves of any master who will pamper them. 
How far our ancestors foresaw the danger of such a 
change, and sought to arrest its progress by the nature 
of their institutions; and how far the innovations that 
we have introduced have been the effect of our impa- 
tience of this check, and our eagerness to hurry on to 
that state in which free government shall be no longer 
practicable, will be the subject of future investigation. 
In this view it will be important to consider, whether 
there be any elements in our society capable of being 
employed to arrest the progress of this evil. If such 
can be found, it is our interest to understand them, and 
our duty to cherish them. If a means can be devised 
to avert it altogether, then may we hand down to our 
posterity the rich inheritance of freedom purchased and 
transmitted to us by our fathers. Then may we rejoice 






238 

in the hope that the final doom, which, like the destroy- 
ing angel, has smitten the hopes of freedom, in all other 
ages and countries, may pass us by, and leave our in- 
stitutions an enduring monument of the important truth, 
that liberty is the reward of virtue, and may be pre- 
served for ever by the cultivation of the same qualities, 
by which it was first achieved. 

I perceive that I have digressed very far from the 
subject which I had proposed for investigation in the 
present lecture. It was my intention to remind you at 
this time, that the most curious, original, and interest- 
ing of our political constitutions, and by far the most 
important of all, is that which connects together the 
members of this confederacy of states. To a right 
understanding of this, it is indispensable to show what 
these states were, before the formation of that tie; and 
to this end it seems necessary to trace them back to the 
very commencement of their colonial existence. 

The principles of the different colonial governments 
were essentially the same; and a history of the early 
establishment of any one of them might, be sufficient 
for my present purpose. This is especially true of Vir- 
ginia, which was the earliest in the order of time, and 
may be takdfc as the exemplar of all the rest.* 

That you may be prepared to apply, as I read, what 
I am about to say, I think it right to apprise you that I 
expect to show from the testimony of ancient and au- 
thentic documents, that each of the North American 
colonies was constituted in and of itself a body politic, 
governing itself by its own laws, and in nowise sub- 
ject to the authority of the lords and commons of Eng- 
land, nor to the king himself as king of England, but 
only as king of such colony. I expect to show that 
England itself considered as a body politic neither had 
nor claimed to have any part or lot in any of the colo- 
nies; that the property in the- soil was considered ac- 

* It is true that New England was not at first settled under 
charters, and that the colonists would have been glad to separate 
themselves from the mother country. But in the end they were 
glad to receive charters, and to be put essentially on the same 



239 

cording to the superstition of the day, as belonging, by 
a sort of divine right, to the prince in whose name the 
discoverer might take possession of it; and that this 
right of property carried with it a right to require the 
homage and allegiance of all who might be allowed to 
settle thereon. For we must remember, that we are 
speaking of a time when the crowned heads of Europe 
claimed an interest in all that their subjects did, and a 
right over all their actions, such as at this day would 
not be thought of. Men were not then deemed free to 
quit their country even for a season, at their own will 
and pleasure. Permission to go upon a voyage of dis- 
covery must be asked, and the right to settle in a newly 
discovered region could not be thought of, but as a 
matter of grace and favour. It was of course to couple 
such indulgences with as many conditions as the sove- 
reign might think fit to impose; while it was of the na- 
ture of allegiance, according to the notions then preva- 
lent, to cling to the subject wherever he might go, and 
to bind him indissolubly by a chain, however lengthened, 
to the throne of his royal master. 

Hence we find that queen Elizabethan the year 1578, 
granted, by letters patent, to Sir Humphrey Gilbert 
" free power and liberty to discover, find out, search, 
and view all such remote heathen and barbarous lands, 
countries and territories, as were not actually possessed 
by any Christian prince or people, and thither to lead 
and carry with him to travel thitherward and there in- 
habit, such and so many of his majesty's subjects as 
would willingly accompany and join in the enterprise; 
and that he should have, hold, occupy and enjoy, to 
himself, his heirs and assigns forever, all such lands, 
countries and territories, so to be discovered or pos- 
sessed, with the rights, royalties, and jurisdictions, as 
well marine as other, within the said lands and coun- 
tries, or the seas thereunto adjoining, with full power 
to dispose thereof to her majesty's subjects, and of any 
and every part thereof in fee simple, or otherwise, ac- 
cording to the laws of England, as nearly as conve- 
niently might be; paying to the queen, her heirs and 
successors, for all services, duties and demands what- 



240 

soever, the fifth part of all the ore of gold and silver 
ivhich should at any time be there gotten, holding all 
the said lands and countries of her majesty, her heirs 
and successors, by homage, and by the payment of the 
fifth part so reserved." 

You have but to recall what you have already read 
on the subject of feudal tenures, to perceive that here 
is a claim of property advanced by the queen, and re- 
cognised by the patentee, which establishes her in the 
character of sole allodial proprietor of the lands to be 
discovered, and him in that of tenant in soccage, holding 
by homage and rent. Of England and the laws of 
England you will see that nothing is said, but by way 
of reference to those laws for the explanation of the 
legal phrases used. 

The patent goes on thus. "And for uniting in more 
perfect league and amity such lands and countries with 
the realms of England and Ireland, and for the better 
encouragement of those who should engage in the en- 
terprise, the queen grants and declares, that the said 
countries so to be possessed and inhabited should from 
thenceforth be in the allegiance and protection of her, 
her heirs and successors; and farther grants to the said 
Sir Humphrey, his heirs and assigns, and to every other 
person or persons, to their and every of their heirs, 
that they and every of them, that should thereafter be 
inhabiting in the said lands, countries and territories, 
should and might have and enjoy all the privileges of 
free denizens or persons native of England, any law, 
custom or usage to the contrary notwithstanding. 

"And she further grants to the said Sir Humphrey, 
his heirs and assigns for ever, full power and authority 
to correct, punish, pardon, govern, and rule, as well in 
causes capital or criminal as civil, all such her subjects 
or others, as should adventure themselves in the said 
voyages, or should at any time thereafter inhabit the 
said lands, countries or territories, or should dwell 
within two hundred leagues of the place or places, 
where the said Humphrey, his heirs or assigns, or any 
of his or their associates should inhabit within six years 
ensuing the date thereof; with power to constitute such 



241 

statutes, laws and ordinances, as should by him, the 
said Humphrey, his heirs or assigns, be devised or es- 
tablished tor the better government of the said people: 
Provided always that they should be, as near as con- 
veniently might, agreeabfe to the laws and policy of 
England and provided also, that they be not against the 
true Christian faith, professed in the church of England, 
nor any way tend to withdraw the subjects of the peo- 
ple of those lands or places from the allegiance of the 
queen, her heirs or successors." See the Charter in 
Stith's History of Virginia, p. 4. 

Now remember, that at that time there was no union 
between England and Ireland. The two kingdoms 
were at that day governed by their own separate legis- 
latures, and only connected by the fact, that Elizabeth 
was queen alike of both. They were, to all intents and 
purposes, distinct bodies politic. The union of the 
projected colony was to be a union of league and amity; 
not a union of amalgamation. And if it were con- 
tended that these words should bear a meaning which 
would have tnade such colony part and parcel of the 
commonwealth of England, had that kingdom alone 
been mentioned, we shall find it impossible to adopt 
that meaning when the same phrase is applied to Ire- 
land also. The colony might be united to both, but 
could not form a part of both, and therefore was to 
form a part of neither. It is true that it is said that 
the inhabitants should have and enjoy all the privileges 
of natives of England; but when we remember that 
the natives of England enjoyed like privileges in Ire- 
land, we shall see that the mention of Ireland here 
would have been superfluous. You see here too a claim 
to their allegiance to the queen, her heirs and succes- 
sors. Successors to what? Had she lost the crown of 
Ireland, would she have lost their allegiance? No. Or the 
crown of England ? No. Or that of both countries ? 
I should still say no. Had her intention been so, the 
proper form of words was quite familiar to those con- 
versant with the language of charters and grants. 
"Nobis & Haeredibus et Successoribus \\ostv\?!,Regibus 
Jinglise et HibernixP This is the appropriate form of 
21 



242 

words, where the object is to establish a relation to the 
kingly office, and not merely to the person holding that 
office. The omission of this phraseology shows the 
purpose of establishing a new kingdom, the inhabitants 
of which would be bound by the ties of homage and 
allegiance to their proper sovereign, and her successors 
as such, whatever revolutions might take place in other 
lands. 

But to place this matter beyond dispute, let us look 
at the next clause. (Stith, lb.) Now here is a grant 
of powers utterly inconsistent with any claim of au- 
thority over the colonists by the parliament of England. 
They were to live under their own laws, and are merely 
admonished to make these conform, as far as may be 
convenient, to the laws of England, and by no means 
to draw away the allegiance of the people from the 
queen. These are the only restrictions imposed upon 
them, and these are imposed by the authority of their 
queen alone as such, and leave them free to constitute 
themselves, together with her, as their political head, a 
body politic within itself totus teres at que rotundus, as 
complete and independent as any on earth. 

I refer to this patent, not as one of the subsisting 
fundamentals of our establishment. I refer to it merely 
as showing you the ideas entertained at that day by the 
government of England.. The six years contemplated 
in the last extract, having passed by without a settle- 
ment, the patent expired by non user; but had such 
settlement been made, and grown and flourished, and 
extended itself to a mighty empire, I think you will 
see that the right of Elizabeth to the crown of that 
realm could not have been affected by any change in 
her relation to any part or all of her European do- 
minions. 

A similar patent, immediately after the expiration of 
the six years, was granted to Sir Walter Raleigh, but 
this too may be considered as having expired by its 
own limitations, as all attempts to make a settlement un- 
der it, within the required time, proved abortive. Un- 
der these patents, however, voyages had been under- 
taken, and discoveries made, which enured to the 



243 

benefit of the crown, establishing Elizabeth, according 
to the maxims of international law then received in 
Europe, in the character of sole, absolute and allodial 
proprietor of all the lands discovered by the adven- 
turers who had sailed under them. The subsequent 
charters granted by king James, and under which the 
settlement of the country actually took place, show the 
light in which this proprietary interest was regarded, 
and the privileges he claimed in virtue of it. 

The charter under which the settlement at James- 
town was actually made, constitutes the company of 
merchants and adventurers, thereby incorporated, a 
"body politic," and establishes it in a right to enact 
laws for the good government and well being of the 
future colony. They are authorized "to nominate, 
make, constitute, ordain and confirm, by such name or 
names, style or styles, as to them shall seem good, and 
likewise to revoke, discharge, change and alter, as well 
all and singular governors, officers, and ministers, 
which already have been made, as also which hereafter 
shall be by them thought fit and needful to be made or 
used, for the government of the said colony and planta- 
tion; and also to make, ordain and establish all manner 
of orders, laws, directions, instructions, forms, and cere- 
monies of government and magistracy, fit and necessary 
for, and concerning the government of the said colony 
and plantation; and the same, at all times hereafter, to 
abrogate, revoke, or change, not only within the pre- 
cincts of the said colony, but also upon the seas in going 
and coming, to and from the said colony, as they in their 
good discretion shall think to be fittest for the good of 
the adventurers and inhabitants thereof." See 1. Hen- 
ing's Statutes at large, p. 91, 92. 

A grant is then made to them of all the country 
within certain limits "to be holden of us, our heirs and 
successors, as of otjr manour of East Greenwich, in 
free and common soccage, and not in capite; yielding 
and paying therefore to us, our heirs and successors, 
the fifth part only of all ore of gold and silver, that 
from time to time, and at all times hereafter shall be 
gotten, had or obtained, for all manner of services." 



244 

Here is a grant of land in free and common soccage, 
such, as, according to the law of tenures, could only be 
made in virtue of an absolute allodial property in the 
grantor. But there occurs here a phrase which needs 
some explanation, and which places beyond doubt the 
claim made by the king, and recognised both by the 
English nation and the colony. The words "as of our 
meinour of East Greenwich," are plainly intended to 
constitute the lands of the colony as part and parcel of 
that manor, which was the private property of the king. 
It was property which he held as a natural man, a pri- 
vate individual, and not as king. It was property which 
he would not have lost, although he might have lost the 
crown; and by thus connecting his rights to the newly 
discovered country with his estate in that manor, he 
clearly meant to declare his intention thenceforth to 
hold it, not as king of England, but as James Stuart, 
and as king of Virginia. 

It is perhaps right to show you that this idea was not 
confined to the king alone, but that it was quite con- 
sistent with the received and established notions of his 
rights; and, as such, acquiesced in by others. Now the 
manor of East Greenwich is in the episcopal diocese 
of London. The same legal fiction, therefore, which 
made Virginia part and parcel of the manor of East 
Greenwich, should make it part and parcel too of the 
diocese of London. If that fiction was reconcilable 
to the maxims of municipal and ecclesiastical law, we 
should expect to find the episcopal rights and authority 
of the bishop of London recognised as extending over 
the whole of Virginia. Now we do find that they were 
so recognised. The bishop of London became de facto 
bishop of Virginia; and all the valuable rights annexed 
to the office of minister of our parishes were received 
at his hands and consecrated by his authority. When 
the political separation took place, and Virginia was to 
be erected into a separate diocese, his authority as her 
diocesan was still acknowledged. Hence, when our 
former president, bishop Madison, was designated 
for the office of bishop of Virginia, it was deemed ne- 
cessary that he should go to England, to receive at the 



245 

hands of the bishop of London a delegation of the au- 
thority formerly exercised by him. 

As a farther illustration of this topic, let me add, that 
all grants of lands made before the revolution, were 
described as lying in that part of the manor of East 
Greenwich called Virginia. It is by grants so worded, 
that all the land in this part of the country is held at 
this day. 

One of the first acts done by the company in pursu- 
ance of their authority to appoint magistrates and to 
enact laws, is an ordinance bearing date July 24, 1621. 
By this it is declared, 

II. "We, therefore, the said treasurer and company, 
by authority directed to us by his majesty under the 
great seal, upon mature deliberation, do hereby order 
and declare, that from henceforward there shallbe two 
supreme councils in Virginia, for the better government 
of the said colony. 

III. "The one of which councils to be called the 
council of state, (and whose office it shall chiefly be 
assisting with their care, advice and circumspection 
the said governor,) shall be chosen, nominated, placed 
and displaced from time to time, by us, the said trea- 
surer, council and company, and our successors. * * * * 

IV. "The other council more generally to be called 
by the governor once yearly, and no oftener but for 
very extraordinary and important occasions, shall con- 
sist, for the present, of the said council of state, and of 
two burgesses out of every town, hundred or other par- 
ticular plantation, to be respectively chosen by the in- 
habitants: which council shall be called the general as- 
sembly, wherein (as also in the council of state) all mat- 
ters shall be decided, determined and ordered, by the 
greater part of the voices then present; reserving to 
the governor always a negative voice. And this gene- 
ral assembly shall have full power to treat, consult, 
and conclude, as well of all emergent occasions con- 
cerning the public weal of the said colony, and every 
part thereof, as also to make, ordain, and enact such 
general laws and orders for the behoof of the said co- 

21* 



246 

Ion j, and the good government thereof, as shall, from 
time to time, appear necessary or requisite. 

V. "Whereas, in all other things we require the said 
general assembly, as also the said council of state, to 
imitate and follow the policy of the form of government, 
laws, customs, and manner of trial and other adminis- 
tration of justice used in the realm of England, as near 
as may be, even as ourselves by his majesty's letters 
patefit are required. 

VI. "Provided, that no law or ordinance made in the 
said general assembly, shall be or continue in force or 
validity, unless the same shall be solemnly ratified and 
confirmed in a general quarter court of the said com- 
pany here in England, and, so ratified, be returned to 
them under our seal; it being our intent to afford the 
like measure also unto the said colony, that, after the go- 
vernment of the said colony shall once have been well 
framed, and settled accordingly, which is to be done by 
us, as by authority derived from his majesty, and the 
same shall have been so by us declared, no orders of 
court afterwards shall bind the said colony, unless they 
be ratified in like manner in the general assemblies." 
1. Hening's Statutes at large, 110, &c. 

At your greater leisure, I would invite you to ex- 
amine the documents thus laid before you, and to de- 
cide for yourselves whether they do not constitute the 
colony of Virginia a body politic, complete and perfect 
within itself. You will see that the English govern- 
ment had, from the first, nothing to do with its affairs; 
that with the English nation there was no connection but 
through the commune vinculum of a king who was alike 
the sovereign of both countries, but who chose to go- 
vern them by separate laws and separate agencies, de- 
siring no more than a convenient conformity between 
the two. You will see that he limited his authority to 
the claim of allegiance, and to ; a right to confirm or re- 
ject the nominations of the company for members of 
the council of state. Farther than this, he did not 
chose to go; and you will find that the only limitation 
on the power of self-government in the colony was de- 
vised for the protection of the rights of the company in 



247 

England. To secure these, you see that it is provided 
that all the acts of assembly were to be reconsidered 
by the company and approved by them. But you must 
remember that the company, and the king himself, were 
themselves part and parcel of the body politic; and 
you will observe on the other hand, that they distinctly 
renounce all right to impose any regulation on the co- 
lony, but by the consent and concurrence of the 
assembly. 

You see here then, a body politic of a structure not 
much dissimilar to that of England. We have the 
king who is common to the two. We have the company, 
consisting for the most part of persons resident in 
England, and represented by a council chosen by them- 
selves, with the approbation of the king. When we 
consider this council as thus representing the hereditary 
rights and privileges of the proprietors, we shall see a 
striking analogy to the house of lords, while the house 
of burgesses, chosen by the resident proprietors and in- 
habitants of the country, is formed, as nearly as possi- 
ble, on the model of the house of commons. In these 
estates resided the whole power of the body politic, 
and it is impossible to discover in its constitution the 
least trace of a right to interfere in the management 
of their concerns, in any other man or body of men on 
earth. 

I have laid these matters before you thus distinctly 
and in detail, because there belongs to them an import- 
ance of which you may not be at first aware. You must 
see that they establish the colony in a perfect and abso- 
lute right of self-government, qualified only by the 
reserved rights of the company of proprietors, and the 
supervisory authority of the king. But when you 
reflect that the king and company, though not resident 
in the colony, had a large pecuniary interest in the 
concern, you will see the reasonableness of regarding 
them too as a part of the body politic, having a right 
to at least a negative voice, (and they had no more,) in 
the management of its affairs. 

In training the colony to the condition in which it 
existed at the revolution, it is proper to add, that soon 



248 

after its establishment it was found that the authority 
of the company in England was exercised with an un- 
due regard to the interests of the proprietors there, and 
a neglect of the welfare of the actual settlers here, 
which gave great dissatisfaction, not only to the colo- 
nists, but to the king. In consequence of this, we are 
told that "Charles I., on coming to the crown, through 
a tender concern for the poor people, that had been be- 
trayed thither, dissolved the company in the year 1626, 
reducing the country and government into his own 
immediate direction, appointing the governor and coun- 
cil himself, and ordering all patents and process to issue 
in his name;" and, "confirming the former methods 
and jurisdictions of the several courts as they had been 
appointed in the year 1620, placed the last resort in 
the assembly." (Beverley, 4. 6, 7.)* 

It appears that a party in the colony at the time were 
dissatisfied with this high-handed measure at first; but 
they soon found the advantage of it. Accordingly, we 
find that in the year 1642, one of the agents having in- 
voked the interference of Parliament on behalf of the 
company, the assembly protested against it with great 
energy and effect. In this protest they speak of the 
colony as "fitter, if his majesty so please, for a branch 
of his own royal stem, than for a company." 

The pregnant meaning of this expression suggests to 
me to illustrate what I have been saying, by asking 
what there was in the history of the colony as I have 
traced it, to have interfered with the power of the gene- 
ral assembly with the concurrence of the king, to 
pass an act of settlement by which the crown of Vir- 
inia should pass to the second or any other son of the 
ing, and his heirs not being kings of England. The 
answer to this question, about which there was no dis- 



I 



* This verifies what is said in a resolution of Congress passed 
Dec. 6, 1775: "We are accused of forgetting the allegiance that 
we owe to the power that has protected and sustained us. What 
allegiance is it that we forget? Allegiance to the Parliament'? 
We never owed — we never owned it. Allegiance to our king % 
Our words have ever avowed it; our conduct has ever been con- 
sistent with it." See the whole resolution, Journal 1. p. 282. 



249 

pute in the minds of the parties then, and can be none 
now, affords a simple test, which fully establishes the 
complete and entire sovereignty of the colony of Vir- 
ginia as represented by her assembly and her king. 

Here, gentlemen, we find a complete verification of 
the language of our continental congress in 1776, (not 
only as political but historical truth,) which declares 
that these colonies then ivere^ and of right ought to be, 
free, sovereign and independent states. It remained 
only by a solemn and authentic act, to renounce all al- 
legiance to the king, and in the instant each colony 
stood alone and distinct, in complete self-inherent sove- 
reignty, separate and disconnected by any political tie 
from each other, and from all the world. 

It is curious to observe that such was the view which 
Virginia seems to have taken of this matter. By her 
act of 15th of May, 1776, she does not in terms declare 
herself free, sovereign and independent. She assumes 
the fact, and acts upon it by proceeding at once to estab- 
lish a new government and to adopt that very constitu- 
tion under which we all were born. She does, indeed, 
invite the other states to a declaration of independence; 
and she instructs her delegates in congress to propose 
and join in it, which they did. But she did not deem 
it a necessary preliminary. Nor was it; for it was but 
a declaration of a subsisting fact. Accordingly she 
neither declared it in terms, nor awaited the declara- 
tion of congress,* but, sufficient to herself for all the 

* It has been intimated of late, by an authority too imposing 
to be questioned on slight grounds, (I mean that of Judge Story,) 
that this decisive step was not ventured upon but in virtue of the 
recommendation of congress. The journals of that body, and 
of the Virginia convention, will show that the resolution of 
congress recommending the establishment of provisional go- 
vernments was promulgated on the 15th of May, 1776. and that 
it was on the very same day that the Virginia convention raised 
a committe with instructions to report a declaration of rights 
and a constitution. On the same day, too, her delegates in 
congress were instructed to propose the declaration of inde- 
pendence by all the states in congress assembled. Neither party, 
therefore, took the first step at the suggestion of the other, but 
both acted simultaneously, and each adopted resolutions urging 
the action of the other. Virginia, perhaps, acted afterwards 



250 

purposes of sovereignty and self-government, she went 
on to the completion of her work, and under a consti- 
tution framed by herself, and officers created and de- 
signated by herself, she already had taken her stand 
among the nations of the earth, while it was as yet to 
be decided whether her bold example should be fol- 
lowed by the other states or no. 

The action of Virginia, on that occasion, was not 
without precedent in her earlier history. But of this 
hereafter. At present, gentlemen, may I not be per- 
mitted to express my wonder that the gallant and mag- 
nanimous act to which I have just adverted is one of 
which most of you, perhaps, have now heard for the 
first time. The fourth of July in each succeeding year 
is celebrated as the birth-day of our freedom. The 
morning is ushered in with the roar of artillery; the 
welkin rings with shouts of exultation and rejoicing: 
the names of the men of that day are hymned in choral 
songs, and their praises are rehearsed in public speeches, 
in which we are invited to give our grateful admiration 
to the noble daring of but 3,000,000 of men, dispersed 
through thirteen petty, infant colonies, who ventured to 
defy the wrath of the most powerful state then in the 
world. The descendants of the heroes of that trying 
hour, eagerly contest the glory of having sprung from 
them, and honours more than mortal are decreed to 
those who stood foremost on that occasion, oifering 
themselves as the most prominent victims of the rage 
which they provoked. 

I trust, gentlemen, I shall ever be among the last to 
disparage their merit, or to deny the gratitude due to 
those illustrious men. But, considering them as con- 
tending which should be foremost in the path of. hon- 
our and of danger, can I forget, can I permit you to 



with more confidence, in consequence of this assurance of co- 
operation. On the other hand, it is sure, that the general declara- 
tion of independence was moved by one of the delegates of Vir- 
ginia, under her instructions, and' drafted by another of them. 
It may be doubted whether any member of congress would have 
felt himself authorized to make the motion without precise in- 
structions from home. 



251 

forget, that in this they were already anticipated ? That 
it was Virginia and Virginia alone, not thirteen colonies, 
but one; not three millions of men, but the fifth part 
of that number, that had already taken the decisive 
step; and that while the congress of Philadelphia were 
still discussing the terms of that eloquent appeal to 
God and man on behalf of American liberty, her 
words of defiance were already ringing in the tyrant's 
ears. Hers was the voice which first summoned him 
to the strife: hers was the shout that invited his ven- 
geance. "Me! me! Adsum qui feci; in me convertite 
ferrum." 

I beg you to pardon this digression. I have found 
it impossible to bring within the compass of one lecture 
all that I had to say on the subject of this. I have, 
perhaps, said enough to establish the point I set out to 
prove. But, I trust I may be excused for endeavouring 
to detain your attention while I speak of certain other 
particulars in the colonial history which go to confirm 
what I have said. All nations have cultivated a pious 
pride in the early glories of their ancestors, and where 
fact has not supplied a foundation for this sentiment, 
fiction has been invoked. But the birth of Virginia 
was in the days of authentic history. I can tell you of 
no hero or demigod to be celebrated as the founder of 
your race. But there are facts witnessed by authentic 
records on which it is impossible to reflect without an 
honest, and, I trust, an emulous pride, in our descent 
from those whose generous and self-abandoning magna- 
nimity they illustrate. I find my excuse for dwelling 
awhile on these in their tendency to confirm you in the 
great and important truth which it has been the aim of 
this lecture to inculcate: that Virginia was, and is, 
and of right ought to be, a free, sovereign and 
independent state. You will contemplate with wonder 
and admiration the fearful odds, against which she has 
heretofore made good her pretensions to this character, 
and you will be convinced, that, while true to herself, 
she can never lose it. Never 

Till self-abasement paves the way 
To villain bonds and despot sway. 



252 



LECTURE XIV. 

In the thoughts already presented to you, gentlemen, 
you have seen enough to account for the republican form 
of the institutions of these states. Had they taken any 
other form it would have been an instance of an effect 
without a cause. Government, (whatever be its form,) is 
an effect. It arises from a sense of the necessity of some 
common arbiter, and some public authority, to adjust 
the differences, and restrain the vicious propensities of 
men. So far as this necessity demands submission to 
the restraints of government, so far they will be sub- 
mitted to, and, in the absence of any other prevailing 
influence, we may always expect it to take that form 
which dispenses with all restraints not necessary to this 
great primary object. To the rude inhabitant of the 
forest, the member of a wandering band of savages, I 
have shown you that the few restraints and the slight 
responsibility to which he would consent to submit, 
would be least offensive when imposed by the authority 
of some one individual already distinguished for virtue 
and wisdom. So long as the power and prerogatives 
of the savage chief have no tendency to increase his 
wealth, and to surround him with comforts, and invest 
him with splendours denied to others, there can be 
nothing in his station to excite envy. So long as his 
authority has reference only to the few points on which 
the safety of the community depend, there is nothing 
to awaken impatience and insubordination. The laws 
of such a society are so few that each member would 
rarely feel himself restrained from the free indulgence 
of his own will, except by his own sense of right and 
expediency; and the consciousness of personal inde- 
pendence would be hardly at all impaired by the thought 
that one person, and one only, and that the man of his 
own choice, might, on rare occasions, speak to him in 
the voice of authority. This authority, generally dor- 
mant, would, under ordinary circumstances, consist 
with the most perfect equality, and the ties of personal 
friendship might bind together the chiefs of his clan 



253 

and the poorest of his followers. Compared to this 
state of vague subordination, the regulated liberty of a 
government of laws, no matter how enacted, would 
seem to the savage intolerable restraint. In the unde- 
fined discretion of a chief having no power to fortify 
usurpation or enforce wrong, he sees nothing to annoy, 

"and nothing to alarm him. But the legislation of a 
republic can leave nothing to discretion : its laws are 
necessarily precise and more in detail : they enter into 
the common business of life : they beset us on the right 
hand and on the left: they hedge us around with new 
and vexatious restraints : and they impart a sort of 
authority to each individual of the community to look 
into our conduct and question our acts. Use makes us 
insensible to this, but a moment's thought will convince 
us that even the acknowledged right of every individual 
to enforce a respect to the decorums of society, im- 
poses restraints, which, to the wild man of the forest, 
would be intolerable, and detracts more from our free- 
dom of action, than all the authority to which he is 
subject. 

I beg you to observe that I predicate these reflections 
only of the members of a small band of rude savages, 
alike in their condition, alike in their occupations and 
pursuits, almost strangers to the idea of property, and 
so few as to admit of a personal knowledge of each 
other, and especially of their chief. 

• But when we come to speak of a people numerous, 
civilized, enlightened, advanced in arts and sciences, 
familiar with the use of property, eager in its accumu- 
lation, addicted to the pursuits of gainful industry, and 
zealous for the security of rights which cannot be ascer- 
tained or guarded without careful legislation; a people 
long habituated to the restraints of law and order, and 
incapable of living without them, the case is widely 
different. The powers of a government, sufficient for 
the uses of such a community, must necessarily be va- 
rious and great. They would be such as well might 
tempt ambition, and demand deliberation and hesitancjr 
in bestowing them, and it would require the operation 
22 



254 

of some powerful cause to tempt the people to put them 
out of their own hands. 

But we should look in vain in the history of our 
governments for any cause having such a tendency < In 
some of the states there were certainly individuals of 
intelligence, wealth and influence, who thought favour-* 
ably of the monarchical form of government. But this 
disposition had enlisted the great body of those who 
had cherished it in opposition to the revolution, and the 
success of the struggle for independence had driven 
them into exile. If any of that character remained, 
it is to be presumed that their secret attachment to 
their former masterwas not of a nature to be readily 
transferred to any man who had signalized himself in 
resistance to the authority of that master. None, there- 
fore, thought of monarchy. 

For a like reason we should look in vain for any 
cause tending to the establishment of a privileged 
order. The state of colonial dependence is unfavour- 
able to the growth of such an order. It has never been 
the policy of the British government to govern its colo- 
nies through the agency of persons domiciliated in 
them, and identified with them. The higher officers of 
the colonial establishments were intended to act as a 
check upon any designs unfavourable to the authority 
or interests of the mother country. The governor, 
therefore, was always a stranger, and his confidence 
was most frequently bestowed on men not particularly 
distinguished by popular favour. The consequence 
was, that wealth, (that essential support to aristocracy,) 
was not found in the hands of those whom the people were 
accustomed to know as political characters, and to look 
up to as political leaders. It is true that that class 
supplied, (especially in the northern states,) many of 
the most prominent actors in the revolutionary drama, 
but it is equally true that the great body was composed 
of men addicted to ease, luxury, self-indulgence, and 
the exercise of a discriminating hospitality which never 
opened their doors to the poor and humble. Our dilapi- 
dated churches still show the tombs and scutcheons of 
families once distinguished for wealth, though novvfallen 



255 

to decay. At this day we find no trace of the descen- 
dents of many of these, and at the same time we vainly 
seek for their names, or the names of their posterity, in 
the history of the revolution. A "meditation among 
the tombs" of lower Virginia may furnish thoughts not 
less interesting to the political philosopher than to the 
christian moralist. We there learn who were the 
wealthy of the land, and collating the testimony of 
these mouldering records with that of history, we dis- 
cover why no one thought for a moment of making 
them the objects of a political distinction which could 
not be properly conferred on any other class. 

I have adverted to these things for no invidious pur- 
pose, but in order to show you that our government, 
like all that have ever existed, was the creature of cir- 
cumstances, which stamped their very form and pres- 
sure upon it. It was not the creature of theory. There 
was no time to theorize, and it would have been unsafe 
to hazard the success of the whole experiment by invi- 
ting a conflict between theoretical principles, and any 
one of the prevailing interests which it was necessary 
to conciliate, harmonize and combine. There are fea- 
tures in the constitution of Virginia, especially, utterly 
at variance with all theory, but in exact conformity to 
the wants, habits, and prejudices of the community. 
Of most of these I shall speak hereafter. At present 
I only advert to them as a farther confirmation of the 
remark I just now made. I have little doubt that that 
instrument owes its highest excellence to the acknow- 
ledged necessity of thus conforming to circumstances. 
To this we must attribute that marvellous adaptation 
to the wants and wishes of the people which imparted 
to a government so inartificial a degree of freedom and 
efficiency not surpassed by any that has ever been de- 
vised. It has not been my fortune for several years to 
meet with any man of respectable understanding who 
does not look upon that rude work of practical wisdom 
with admiration and regret, and regard its abolition as 
a self-inflicted calamity, the greatest that Virginia has 
ever endured. I propose to show you hereafter, that 
its destruction was the work of extrinsic causes, and 



256 

that the new form has not grown out of the nature of 
the society, but has been superinduced and imposed 
upon it by an influence from without. 

You see then, gentlemen, that the causes which in- 
fluenced in the formation of the governments of these 
states, were all such as must tend to the adoption of 
that form which equally respects and secures the rights 
of all men. With this fact before us, it is unphiloso- 
phical to look beyond it for the explanation of what 
was done. It is gratuitous to attribute to our people a 
more passionate love for liberty than is to be found 
elsewhere, or a desire to conform their institutions to 
any fantastic model of theoretical perfection. The 
first of these suppositions is, moreover, falsified by the 
fact, that so long as the colonists were permitted to in- 
dulge a hope that the king would do his duty by them 
as their king, and defend them from the usurpation and 
exactions of his English subjects, they desired nothing 
better than to remain subject to his authority. This 
was, indeed, not equally true of alL the colonies, for it 
cannot be denied, that the people of New England re- 
tained much of that partiality for a more popular form 
of government, which their puritan ancestors brought 
from England. But the inhabitants of the southern 
colonies, and especially of Virginia, had been always 
distinguished for a steady and passionate loyalty, which 
never faltered, until they clearly saw that the king had 
determined to support, at all hazards, and in their full- 
est extent, the pretensions of the parliament. 

The other supposition, that our people proposed to 
shape their institutions in imitation of any form of go- 
vernment known to history, or after the similitude of 
any mJWov of theoretical perfection is also discounte- 
nanced by the fact. The history of the world affords 
no model which they can be supposed to have copied, 
and the institutions of the states were eminently defi- 
cient in that symmetrical conformity to any imaginable 
theory, which the merest tyro in the school of Utopia 
might have sketched. 

These remarks, gentlemen, are not offered without 
an object. It rarely happens that an instrument can 



257 

be so draughted, as that, standing by itself, there might 
not be some doubt about its interpretation. The pri- 
vate contracts of individuals are rescued from ambi- 
guity by the many conventional rules of interpretation, 
which experience has shown to be necessary, and by 
the use of established forms, and technical phrases 
which are to be understood, not in a popular, but in a 
technical sense. When, after resorting to all these, 
we are still in doubt as to their meaning, we are com- 
pelled to look to extrinsic circumstances, to study the 
history of the transaction, to endeavour to detect the 
state of mind and feeling which accompanied it, to put 
ourselves in the place of the parties, and thus divine 
their purpose. 

In the interpretation of the constitution of a state, 
this ultimate resort is often the only resort, and is al- 
ways and indispensably necessary. Such instruments, 
and they who interpret them, are alike superior to the 
authority of technicalities. The rights and liberties of 
a people are not to be sacrificed to the niceties of arti- 
ficial rules, and power does not condescend to listen to 
them. Indeed, the only rule worthy of the magnitude 
of the subject requires us in all cases to study the cir- 
cumstances of the parties, to endeavour to possess our- 
selves of their general views and purposes, and to give 
such interpretation to their words as shall be most fa- 
vourable to the accomplishment of these. 

He, then, who affirms that the people of any one 
state of this Union, proposed to themselves the example 
of any government, ancient or modern, as a model 
for their own, does not advance a barren proposition. 
It must necessarily be fruitful of important consequen- 
ces. The same is equally true of him, who supposes 
them to have adopted, for the same purpose, the abstract 
theory of monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy, or any 
imaginable compound of all or any two of them. 

In the same view I am sensible that I advance a pro- 
position of great practical importance, when I say that 
the constitutions of our several states were the result 
of circumstances, and that their interpretation is to be 
sought in the actual condition of the colonies at the 
22* 



25S 

time, and their past history. For the proof of this I 
refer to all that I have said. I think I have shown 
that this proposition may be taken as a general truth, 
applicable to all countries, and in all ages, and I might 
properly call on him who should undertake to except 
these states from the operation of the principle, to 
show reason for the exception. But I shall not insist 
on this. I propose to leave this defensive position, and 
to show you, by the testimony of the record itself, that 
the framers of our revolutionary institutions thought 
not of theories or models; that they drew their ideas 
from no school but that of experience; and that, taught 
by that, they sought only to remove present evils, and 
to provide securities against their recurrence. 

The principles of the British constitution had made 
them familiar with the maxim, "that no man's property 
can be rightfully taken from him without his consent;" 
and the experience of that people had taught them to 
regard this simple maxim as the only effectual safe- 
guard of liberty. The practice of that government, 
adopted with a view to give effect to this maxim, had 
introduced the idea that the only legitimate source of 
legislative authority is to be found in the people them- 
selves. These are the principal, perhaps the whole of 
the political maxims, the recognition of which can be 
detected in the constitution of Virginia. Beyond these 
we find nothing but the machinery necessary to carry 
them into effect, and to execute the laws enacted in 
pursuance of them. The bill of rights itself, a com- 
pendium of abstract propositions, will be found to con- 
tain no maxims having reference to the form of gov- 
ernment but these, and such as are properly auxiliary 
to these. The three most striking propositions, which 
stand in the front of that instrument, are alike predicat- 
ed of all forms, and only serve to indicate the source 
>from which their powers should be derived, and the 
authority by which they may be changed. They con- 
template governments not in esse and in action, but in 
fieri, or in a state of transition, and, so far from af- 
firming the exclusive legitimacy of any one form, they 



259 

declare the right of the people to adopt any form they 
may prefer. 

Instead of discussing the respective merits of differ- 
ent forms, they show their wisdom by announcing a 
proposition which implies that one form may be best 
under some circumstances, which, on different condi- 
tions, would not be best. Thus they declare that "of 
all the various modes and forms of government, that is 
best which is capable of producing the greatest degree 
of happiness and safety, and is most effectually se- 
cured against the danger of mal-administration." At 
the same time, instead of pronouncing in favour of any 
one form as the only legitimate one, they affirm the 
right of every people to choose among all imaginable 
forms that which suits them best, and which to them 
seems best adapted to these great ends of government. 
What that form should be they do not venture to de- 
cide. What they thought best adapted to these objects 
iu their own case, appears by the constitution they 
adopted. 

When we come to examine the constitution itself in 
its details, we shall discover that the abstractions 
which we find in the bill of rights were either not un- 
derstood by the authors themselves in their utmost lati- 
tude, or that they felt the necessity and wisdom of limit- 
ing them in their application by a regard to circum- 
stances. The problem they had to work was the con- 
struction of a government "capable of procuring the 
greatest degree of happiness and safety, and most ef- 
fectually secured against mal-administration." Had 
they been mere theorists it might be impossible to say 
what they would have done. But they were men of 
practical wisdom, learned in the school of experience; 
and, taking experience for their guide, they seem to 
have governed themselves by a few simple maxims. 
That which they found to be fatal to "happiness and 
safety" they rejected; that which seemed to expose 
them to the "danger of mal administration," they 
changed; all that seemed not liable to either of these 
objections they retained. Nothing was done or left 
undone but with a view to these considerations. All 



260 

the anomalies and incongruities of their work are to be 
explained by these, and in the regard paid to them is to 
be found the secret of the admirable working of the 
constitution framed at that time. 

The great source of the evils which led to the revolu- 
tion, was subjection to the authority of a foreign power, 
exercised through an executive officer deriving his com- 
mission from that power. This connection was severed 
at the first blow; and, this being done, our lawgivers 
seem not to have been very curious in devising means 
for supplying an executive head to the government. 
They seem to have thought it enough that he did not 
come from abroad, and draw his powers from a foreign 
source. They accordingly adopted the most compen- 
dious and convenient means of designating him, and 
thus, to the great disgust of theorists, they referred his 
election to the general assembly. In this, you see, 
they overlooked the maxim which requires the distinct- 
ness and independence of the executive and legislative 
branches. 

In fixing the powers of the governor, it may seem 
strange that they did not invest him with that of at 
least a qualified veto on the laws. This plan we have 
seen has been adopted in the federal constitution, and 
in those of most of the states, and a familiarity with 
the English constitution must have suggested it, and 
might have been expected to make it acceptable. Why 
was it rejected here ? The answer to this question is 
to be found in the fact that the wishes of the people of 
Virginia, as expressed in some most important and 
popular enactments of the colonial assembly, had been 
recently and unreasonably thwarted by the denial of 
the royal assent. The veto power was one of those 
which they had found "unfavourable to happiness and 
safety," and they did not see very clearly that a power, 
pernicious in the hands of a king, would be salutary 
in those of a governor. 

You will be surprised to be told, that when they had 
thus provided for the selection of an executive magis- 
trate from among themselves, the lawgivers of Vir- 
ginia seem to have thought that they had nearly done 



261 

their work. They had removed the only thing which 
appeared to be intrinsically fatal to liberty and happi- 
ness. In all that remained there was nothing to com- 
plain of but a want of due security against "mal-ad- 
ministration." Such security they proceeded to pro- 
vide, and they did no more. 

1. The experience of the English government had 
made them sensible of the advantage of dividing the 
legislative body into two distinct and independent 
branches. This advantage they sought to secure, by 
the establishment of a senate and house of delegates, 
and this was the only additional change of a purely 
political nature that they made, By this they provided 
the best safeguard at their command against rash and 
inconsiderate legislation. 

2. But to guard against maladministration we must 
not merely secure discretion in the legislator; we 
must also secure the integrity and ability of the judge 
by whom the law is to be executed. The judicial sys- 
tem under the colonial government was deplorably de- 
ficient. The courts to which we now look for well- 
considered, sound, and authoritative expositions of the 
law, had no existence under that government. The 
only court having jurisdiction over felonies committed 
by free persons, sat in this place, and that court was 
composed of the members of the executive council, 
who were lawyers by courtesy and judges ex officio. 
This, too, was the only tribunal to which an appeal 
could be made from the well-intentioned blunders of 
the county courts. The incompetency of such men to 
such functions, and the insufficiency of any one court 
to duties so extensive, were obvious to every one, and 
had been severely felt. Hence it became necessary to 
form a new and complete judicial system, and this ne- 
cessity gave birth to a court of appeals, and a set of 
subordinate tribunals, not very much differing from 
those now in existence. 

In this short summary you have a view of all that 
was abolished, all that was changed, and all that was 
introduced by the framers of our constitution. You 
will see, that on their principle of providing for "hap- 
piness and safety," and guarding against "the danger 



262 

of mal-administration," they could not have done less. 
It remained to be considered whether it was proper to 
do any thing more. Had they been theorists they 
would certainly have decided this question in the af- 
firmative. But they were practical men, guided by ex- 
perience; and all that experience had not shown to be 
unfavourable to happiness and safety, or particularly 
liable to mal-administration, they left as they found it. 
Hence it is that the constitution was disfigured to the 
eye of the theorist by the restriction on the right of 
suffrage, by the rude structure of the county court 
system, and by domestic slavery. Of each of these 
the framers of the constitution may be supposed to 
have asked of their wise teacher, experience, "Has it 
been found inconsistent with happiness and safety, or 
produced a tendency to mal-administration ?" In each 
case the answer must, to them, have appeared to be in 
the negative. Had it been otherwise, they would have 
made some change. As it was, they made none. 

Gentlemen, to my mind there is so much real wis- 
dom in judging and acting on this principle, that I am 
actually loth to justify the discreet forbearance of our 
fathers on any other. When God looked upon the 
work of his hands, and saw that it was good, he esta- 
blished it, and it continues to this day, and wilf con- 
tinue until the human race shall have fulfilled the pur- 
pose for which it was ordained. So when these wise 
and upright men, looking on institutions established 
before they were born, and judging them by their fruits, 
saw nothing evil in their operation, they forebore to 
make any change in them. This forbearance, under 
the existing influence of the revolutionary spirit, then 
in active operation, is an anomaly in the human mind, 
and I am not sure that it does not distinguish them 
advantageously from all the lawgivers that ever lived. 

"The right of suffrage shall remain as at present 
exercised /" Yet to how many, who understand popu- 
lar government only in theory, does the restriction on 
that right, perpetuatedjjy these words, seem an absurd 
and preposterous incongruity ? Perhaps some of them 
may have so regarded it. But it had worked well. 
It had filled the halls of legislation with men devoted 



1263 

alike to law and liberty, and it was by men so elected 
that the bold measures of the day had been taken, and 
the free spirit of the people awakened, roused and di* 
rected. I could find pleasure and pride in believing 
that these facts alone decided the founders of our in- 
stitutions in the choice of these simple and important 
words. It would be agreeable to me to rest their 
claim to your admiring veneration on this ground. 
It is more to their credit to suppose them to have acted 
on the experience that the thing hud worked well, than 
on any argument which might be ottered to prove that 
on principle it was right, and that, from the nature of 
the thing* it ought to work well. 

But our business is with the philosophy of govern- 
ment, and the nature of my task requires, that, in 
pointing your attention to any political contrivance 
which experience approves, I should look behind the 
fact, and endeavour to detect, and exhibit to you its 
principles and causes. I have shown you that equality 
and freedom form the true basis of all legitimate go- 
vernment, and that the assent of the governed to the 
law under which he lives is essential to freedom. I 
have told you that these propositions are true in point 
of principle, and that their full recognition is desirable 
in point of expediency. Now, when I speak in praise 
of a regulation which denied the right of suffrage to 
all but freeholders, I feel and acknowledge the necessity 
of showing how this restriction is consistent with what 
I have already said; of explaining how it is right in 
principle and salutary in practice. This I now proceed 
to do; and with this view, I shall close this lecture 
with a history of the right of suffrage as exercised in 
Virginia from the first establishment of the colony. 

The settlement of Virginia took place more than 
two hundred years ago, under a charter of James the 
First, whereby the adventurers were organized as a com- 
pany, incorporated and established in the character of 
a body politic. A critical examination of that and sub- 
sequent charters, will enable us to detect in the struc- 
ture of this association all those conditions which I 
have heretofore laid before you as essential to the true 



264 

idea of a body politic. The assent of the king to the 
formation of this society, and its establishment here, is 
expressed in the first of these charters. This assent 
was necessary because his acknowledged right to the 
allegiance of the parties as English subjects might have 
interfered with the obligations they were about to as- 
sume as members of a new community. The power 
to bind them by his authority, and to hold them cri- 
minally responsible must be relinquished or modified 
by his own act, before they could become exclusively 
subject to any other authority. 

But not only do we find in that charter this assent 
to the creation of a new political society, but we find 
there the assent of the parties to the association on the 
very terms and conditions expressed in the instrument. 
The king was confessedly the rightful lord of the soil, 
and the right to inhabit, cultivate, and possess it, was 
to be derived from him. That right was granted by 
the charter only to those who might agree to exercise 
it by becoming members of the association, and putting 
themselves under the form of government devised for 
the colony about to be established. All who should be 
willing to come into these terms, the company were 
free to receive. All others they were expressly au- 
thorized to expel. 

This charter of the Virginia company is believed to 
be the earliest authentic record of the original social 
compact of any body politic now in existence. There is 
no instance before, in which it is so easy to establish by 
documentary evidence, the assent of the parties to the 
authority about to be established, and the recognition 
of that authority by the rest of the world; the conse- 
quent responsibility of each individual to the collective 
whole, and the responsibility of the collective whole for 
him to all the world. Whatever may have been the 
powers of the government; whatever the manner in 
which its functionaries might be designated, here is the 
distinct unforced assent of each individual to be bound 
by them. The new government was about to be esta- 
blished in a country then in all the wiidness of nature. 
No man was put to the hard alternative of leaving his 



265 

home and the land of his birth to avoid submission to 
an authority he disliked. The compact was made in 
England, and it was not to escape, but to partake the 
destiny of the new association, that the parties to it 
left their father-land. Their assent to it was not only 
voluntary, but it was given in disregard of all those 
prevailing motives, which, in the change of the consti- 
tution of an old country, may be supposed to extort 
from some a reluctant acquiescence in what is un- 
avoidable. If the terms of the association were unac- 
ceptable to them, they should have expressed their dis- 
approbation by standing aloof. In accepting them they 
entered into a compact, for valuable consideration, the 
obligations of which they were bound to fulfil, each 
individual to the whole, and the whole to each indi- 
vidual. Whatever then were the terms of the associa- 
tion, no wrong was done by them to any member. 
Whatever the forms of the government, its funda- 
mental principle was perfect freedom; and the appro- 
priate exercise of such freedom is in the choice of the 
mode and measure of those salutary restraints, to which 
men instinctively subject themselves, as the only se- 
curity for happiness and prosperity. Whether they 
chose wisely, is not now the question. Freedom must 
ratify their choice, or deny their right to choose. 

By the original members of the company, the scheme 
was formed with a view to profit; and its object was 
the acquisition of a property of incalculable value. Jit 
first it could not be known whether any settlement 
could be effected, or whether such settlement, if made, 
would be profitable to the company, or prove an unac-. 
quited charge. There was no interest, therefore, to be 
consulted in the management of the concern but theirs. 
They who went out as colonists, w^ent in their employ- 
ment, and received for their toils and hazards such 
stipulated advantages as were satisfactory to them. 
Beyond a right to demand the fulfilment of these stipu- 
lations, they had no claim to be consulted or heard. 
They took their lives in their hands, and went, as on a 
forlorn hope, expecting to be rewarded in case of suc- 
cess, and to perish if thev failed. The reward they 
23 



266 

bargained for they had a right to claim, whether the 
adventure proved profitable to their employers or no, 
and of course they had no right to any voice in the 
adoption of measures intended to make it profitable. 

These considerations led to the very proper deter- 
mination, that, in the first instance, the regulation of 
the whole concern should be left to those who had a 
pecuniary interest in it. These were the company in 
England, who advanced all funds necessary to the ad- 
venture, and the king, the residuary proprietor of the 
whole region, the value of which to himself and his 
successors, so much depended on the result of the 
enterprise. Accordingly, we find that its management 
was committed to a council appointed, in the first in- 
stance, by him, and to be kept up by elections to supply 
all vacancies, to be decided by the votes of a majority 
of the company, subject to rejection or approval by the 
crown. To this council was given power to prescribe 
a form of government for the future colony, and to ap- 
point the officers thereof, and to change them from time 
to time, as occasion might require. 

So far assuredly all is as it should be. The manage- 
ment of the whole affair is, by the consent of all con- 
cerned, entrusted to a council chosen by all concerned. 
The right of the colony to be consulted about the form 
of the government to be set over it, is out of the ques- 
tion, because, as yet, the colony had no existence. Its 
potential existence was in the company, and repre- 
sented in the council. 

As might have been expected, some time elapsed be- 
fore the fate of the attempt at colonization could be 
known. During this time, the adventurers were pro- 
perly considered as having no other interest but that of 
the company, and as being sufficiently represented in 
the council. But so soon as the settlement had acquired 
stability, and the settler began to look upon the coun- 
try as his home and the future home of his children, 
his interest in its permanent prosperity became distinct, 
and often antagonist to the mere money-making interest 
of the company at home. To the honour of the com- 
pany and its general council, it is to be remembered, 



267 

that so soon as this interest arose, it was recognised, 
provided for, and secured. This was done by esta- 
blishing a government, to be exercised by a governor 
and council appointed by the company at home, and a 
house of burgesses to be elected by the settlers them- 
selves. In the ordinance prescribing this form of go- 
vernment, it was moreover expressly agreed that no 
law should be enacted by the company in England, 
without the concurrence of the general assembly here, 
nor by the general assembly without the concurrence 
of the company. 

This too was as it should be. The interests of the 
company and the settler were, as I have said, sometimes 
opposed. Neither party ought to have power to sacri- 
fice the rights of the other. That which was good for 
both, both might be expected to concur in. That which 
was ruinous to either, the other ought not to have power 
to do. 

In deciding who should vote for members of this 
house of burgesses, no regard was at first paid to landed 
property. When we remember that the colony had been 
then only twelve years in existence, and that the few 
inhabitants were clustered together around their little 
block- houses, we shall not wonder at this. Every man 
had a right to land, though the necessity of keeping 
together probably prevented any permanent division of 
land. Many years afterwards, we find a law to en- 
courage settlements on the frontiers, by giving to the 
members of such settlements, collectively, a body of 
30,000 acres, to be held by them for the time as tenants 
in common. In like manner, the whole of the settlers 
in 1621, may have been considered as a sort of tenants 
in common of some large and indefinite portion of the 
continent. Indeed, at that time, no man would have 
come to Virginia for pleasure or amusement, or for any- 
thing but the advantages to be obtained by a permanent 
settlement of the soil, a fair proportion of which was 
freely offered to all who would settle it. The actual 
presence of each individual was a sufficient pledge of 
that permanent common interest which gave him a right 
to a voice in the conduct of affairs. 



268 

In 1655, it seems to have been thought proper to 
limit the right of suffrage to house-holders, whether 
lease-holders or free-holders. This was probably de- 
signed as a check on the power of the multitude of 
new-comers, driven out from England bj the usurpa- 
tion of Cromwell, many of whom were probably ad- 
venturers without families. But whatever were the 
motive, it was repealed the very next year, and the 
effect of this repeal was doubtless to give that ascen- 
dency to the royal party in the assembly, which soon 
became so conspicuous. 

It may be worthy of remark, that the qualifications 
here required did not consist of the ownership of land, 
but the actual occupation of a house. This, I presume, 
was looked to as the best criterion of permanent resi- 
dence, inasmuch as at that day every one had a right 
to land. 

It is not until the close of the century that we find 
any precise legislation on this subject. In the year 
1699, it was expressly declared, that none but free- 
holders were entitled to vote, and this law, as far as I 
can discover, remained unchanged until the revolution, 
except that the freehold qualification was made to con- 
sist of" an estate of freehold in not less than fifty acres 
of land. 

The reason why this precise quantity was fixed upon 
may be found in an act passed about the same time 
(in 1705) to regulate the issuing of patents for land. 
This act, (having reference no doubt to the existing 
regulations of the company, or of the king who had 
succeeded to their rights,) recites, that every free per- 
son, male or female, introduced into the colony, was 
entitled to at least fifty acres of land. Those having 
families were entitled to a like quantity for each mem- 
ber of their families, and the same allotment was made 
to indented servants on the expiration of their terms 
of service. 

Comparing these two laws, therefore, it will be seen, 
that that which confined the right of suffrage to free- 
holders was little more than a denial of that right to 
mere transient persons whose occasional residence gave 



269 

no claim to meddle with the affairs of the colony. If 
any others were excluded, they were either such as had 
no! been here long enough to take out their patents, or 
felt too little interest in the country to do so, or who, 
having once had land, and, with it, the right of suffrage, 
had freely parted with both. And for what considera- 
tion ? The price of lands, (as fixed by the same statute,) 
to those who might wish to make locations, was five 
shillings for fifty acres. Hence, he who should have 
complained that the law confining suffrage to free- 
holders deprived him of his birth-right, might be con- 
victed of having literally sold it for a mess of pottage. 
But in truth, however valuable it might be, and how- 
ever difficult it might have proved to acquire anew the 
necessary qualification, it would be equally true, that 
the law requiring it wronged no one. He who had 
once possessed it, had acquired it by coming into the 
country under an agreement to live under the laws and 
government established there. While exercising the 
right of suffrage, he had again consented to this govern- 
ment of freeholders, and borne his part in it. When 
he parted with the right along with the land to which it 
was annexed, he did so freely, and had no right to re- 
call his assent to the constitution. If thenceforward 
he had no voice in the selection of his rulers, still he 
was only governed by such as had been chosen by per- 
sons authorized by himself to choose them. 

On this footing the right of suffrage stood at the re- 
volution. The conditions of its exercise had been 
established by an ancient compact, tacitly renewed 
from generation to generation, so that every class of 
men in society, and almost every individual of every 
class, might be proved to have expressed assent to it by 
some deliberate act. To preserve this part of the con- 
stitution unaltered, was but to ratify a subsisting con- 
tract, the obligation of which had neither been relin- 
quished nor forfeited. It would be hard then for the 
most zealous stickler for abstract right, to prove that 
the Virginia convention did wrong to any one in de- 
claring "that the right of suffrage should remain as 
then exercised." 
23* 



270 

But, though led to this conclusion by fact and argu- 
ment incontrovertible, I do not propose to rest there. 
I do not mean to contend that the assent of men to any 
form of government is forever and irrevocably binding 
under all circumstances. To do this would be to deny 
the right of any people to change the form of govern- 
ment once adopted, without the unanimous consent of 
every member of the community. It would be to 
affirm the right of any one person, dissatisfied with the 
proposed change, to insist on the benefit of the original 
bargain. It might not be difficult to frame a technical 
argument founded on the acknowledged obligation of 
all contracts, to prove his right to this. But the great 
and essential rights of men are not to be sacrificed to 
technicalities and abstractions. I do not mean to per- 
mit myself to be embarrassed by them, and it would 
be uncandid to avail myself of them. The assent of 
every member of the community to the government, 
however absolute in its terms, is qualified by the end 
in view. That end is the accomplishment of the pro- 
per objects of all governments, security and happiness—- 
and the assent ceases to bind so soon as the government 
is found to be unfit for these purposes. But who shall 
decide on this ? each man for himself? or a part for all 
the rest ? If the former, there could be no remedy, for 
the worst governments are those which bad men will 
wish to perpetuate. If the latter, then the claim of each 
individual of a right to insist on the original compact, 
and to protest against all changes not acceptable to him, 
must be abandoned. Now I am the last man in the 
world to contend for the divine right of majorities to 
do what they please. But when it is established, 
that which is evil should be changed — the question 
whether it be evil or no must be referred to some arbi- 
trament. In default of any agreed arbiter there is 
none so natural as the voice of a majority to decide this 
question. Nor is there so much danger of abuse 
of power in this case as might be apprehended. No 
change for the worse would be ventured on by a bare 
majority, nor is it probable that any very important 
change would be attempted except by a majority, com- 






271 

bining in itself the preponderance of wisdom, virtue, 
wealth, talent, reputation and energy, as well as that 
of numbers. The authority of such a majority ought 
to be decisive. 

In view of these considerations, I admit that it is not 
enough to show that the people of Virginia were con- 
senting to the limitation of the right of suffrage per- 
petuated by the constitution. If the government, con- 
stituted on such principles, was not good, the right to 
exchange it for a good government could not be barred 
by their consent. Hence I propose to show in my next 
lecture that, on the principle of local sovereignty, a 
property in the soil is the only just basis of represen- 
tation; and that in point of expediency a qualification 
of the right of suffrage, confining it to freeholders, is 
best for all concerned. 



LECTURE XV. 

The idea of local sovereignty has its origin in that 
of property in the soil. It is always found that, among 
Nomadic tribes, the only sovereignty, of which they 
have any conception, is over persons. A stranger, who 
ventures into the range of an Indian tribe, or a band 
of Arabs, is never considered as placing himself under 
subjection to their laws. He may be plundered or 
murdered with or without any alleged cause of of- 
fence, but whatever severity is practised towards him, 
is inflicted, not as on a criminal, but as on an enemy. 
On the other hand, such savages assert the authority of 
their own laws over their own people, wherever they 
may be, and cannot be made to understand how they 
can be rightfully subjected to any other authority, by 
merely crossing an imaginary line. 

But when the soil of any territory has been parcelled 
out among individuals, they will presently sec the ne- 
cessity of protecting their property in it, by establish- 
ing over the whole the Jus Imperii of the community. 



272 

This Jus Imperii is, in such a case, nothing more than 
an authority resulting from the consent of the whole 
community, each man consenting on behalf of his land, 
as before he had consented for himself, that the juris- 
diction before exercised over his person shall be ex- 
tended to his land. From that time, the chief is known 
as ruler of a country. Before, he was only regarded 
as leader of a people. 

Now let us suppose a community, who have reached 
this point in the progress of society, to find themselves 
in possession of an island sufficient for all, and par- 
celled out among them. Or let us suppose that one 
hundred individuals, from various civilized nations, 
find themselves thrown upon such an island, which they 
have divided among themselves, without, as yet, having 
united in society of any sort. In this situation they 
first form a society and then agree to form a govern- 
ment endued with the Jus Imperii over themselves and 
over their lands; and they propose to establish it on a 
footing of perfect equality. In the management of 
their affairs then, they assign an equal voice to each 
one. But should there happen to be present at the time 
among them, a mere transient and unsettled stranger, 
bringing nothing into the partnership, they would natu- 
rally and properly exclude him from taking any part 
in their proceedings. It would certainly never occur 
to them that he, who, but the day before, was nothing 
more than the guest of the individual whose roof af- 
forded him shelter, acquired, by the formation of the 
proprietors of the soil into a body politic, a right to 
claim admission into that body, without their consent, 
and a farther right to an equal voice in the laws to be 
enacted for the government of their domain. Before 
the formation of the government, his presence, where- 
ever he was, was by sufferance of the individual owner 
of the spot, and he could acquire no new rights by the 
arrangement made by the several proprietors among 
themselves. He is there still by sufferance, and has no 
more right to complain of the regulations of the whole 
community collectively, than he before had to find 
fault with the house-keeping of his particular enter- 



273 

tainer. If either is displeasing to him, his remedy is to 
go away. 

We see then, that in this case, the very basis of the 
association on the principle of local .sovereignty is a 
property in the soil, and that none but those possessing 
such property could have any claim to be considered 
as members of the body politic. Among these the prin- 
ciple of freehold suffrage would be a principle of per- 
fect equality, and would be adopted in that spirit, and 
as a security for the rights of the members against the 
meddling of strangers. If then, strangers come among 
them, they come consenting to the government esta- 
blished. If they have no voice in the enactment of the 
laws, it is because they have freely consented to have 
no voice in their enactment. If they are governed by 
rulers not chosen by themselves, it is because they have 
assented to the authority of those by whom they were 
chosen. 

But inequalities of property arise among the mem- 
bers of the community themselves, and some at length 
part with their land. What then ? If, while he was 
a land-holder, and had a voice in the enactment of the 
laws, the individual himself consented to the law which 
declared that he who parted with his land, should also 
yield his suffrage, does he not consent to this conse- 
quence when he sells his land? Is he not thenceforth 
as much consenting to all that is done by an authority 
delegated by the voices of a constituent body esta- 
blished by himself, as if he had not, by his own con- 
sent, ceased to be a member of that body ? The re- 
straints of law under which he lives are as much self- 
imposed restraints as ever, and, in the proper sense of 
the word, he is free as ever. He is bound, as all free 
men are, by his contracts, and though these may be 
onerous, and detract much from his comfort, they de- 
tract nothing from his freedom. A slave cannot eman- 
cipate himself by his own act; but he, if he dislikes his 
new condition, has but to buy land again, and he is at 
once reintegrated in all his franchises. It is absurd to 
affirm that, in losing the right of suffrage by the sale of 



274 

his land, any violence was done to the principles of 
liberty and equality. There can be no liberty if men 
are not free to make contracts, and there can be no 
equality if their contracts are not binding. Least of 
all can there be a government founded on compact, if 
the parties are not bound by the compact when made. 

It is remarkable, that the difficulty of understanding 
this matter aright, is \ery much enhanced by the fact, 
that while the seller parts with the right of suffrage, the 
purchaser, if already a landholder, did not acquire any 
more of such right than he had before. If he did, if 
by the fundamental law a right to one vote was insepa- 
rably connected with the ownership of fixed and defi- 
nite portions of land, (like the right of representation 
in the rotten boroughs of England,) every body would 
see that, by all the laws of meum and tuum, he who 
had bought the additional vote and paid for it, would 
have a right to it. In the same way he might go on 
and buy freehold after freehold, until he should be 
the only landholder and the only lawgiver, and still 
the advocate of governments of compact and consent 
would, on his own principle, be bound to submit to any 
government the other might impose. What escape could 
he find but through the maxim advanced in my last lec- 
ture, "that the right of a people to exchange a bad go- 
vernment for a good one, cannot be bound by their 
consent." Let the theorist remember this; and let 
him remember too, that it is equally true of all govern- 
ments, however originated. "A government," said 
Burke, speaking of one of the ephemeral constitutions, 
which the people of France swore to perpetuate on one 
day and abolished on the next, "a government of five 
hundred village curates, and pettifogging country attor- 
nies, is not good for twenty-four millions of people, 
though it should be chosen by forty-eight millions." 
This is true. Happiness and safety are the ends of 
government, and a government which affords these, 
with a reasonable security against mal -ad ministration, 
is the only legitimate government. All others are con- 
trary to the ends of government, and there is no jus 



275 

divinum of kings or numbers, which can sanctify them, 
and save them from condemnation. 

It is a maxim of political ethics, that no man's con- 
sent or compact is so far binding, as to bar his right to 
fulfil the purposes of his creation and the functions of 
his nature. No valid surrender can be made of that 
which is essential to the great end of his existence. 
Rights of this description are said to be inalienable. 
Were it otherwise, man might plead his own act in ex- 
cuse for his neglect of his highest duties. 

The most important of his rights of this description, 
is his right to the benefit of a good government. It has 
been strongly said that all the political rights of man 
resolve themselves into this; and, if by a good govern- 
ment, we are to understand a government to the autho- 
rity of which he has consented, and which affords a 
reasonable amount of happiness and safety, and a rea- 
sonable security against mal-administration, the expres- 
sion is not too strong or too broad. 

The sum of the whole matter is this. No govern- 
ment is legitimate which is not ratified by the consent 
of the governed, and no consent can legitimate a bad 
government. The right to change, in the first case, 
and the duty to change, in the latter, may both be con- 
fidently affirmed. 

To return then to the supposed case of our insular 
republic. If, by the fundamental law, the whole terri- 
tory were divided into equal portions, to each one of 
which the right to give a vote in virtue of it should be 
inseparably attached, a fatal consequence might pre- 
sently ensue. Those most successful in the pursuit of 
wealth would not only be fortified in the enjoyment of 
their acquisitions, but they would derive from them the 
faculty of arming themselves with the means of in- 
vading the rights of others. That particular sort of 
property, the possession of which imparted political pri- 
vileges, would be eagerly sought after, and the rich 
would thus constitute themselves a privileged order in 
the state, with power to oppress the poor, and to throw 
every burthen on the shoulders of those least able to 
bear it. The authority of government would be alto- 



276 

gether in the hands of great landholders, constituting 
a privileged order, and eager to create for themselves 
distinct interests to be advanced at the expense of the 
poorer class. No middle class of small landholders 
would be allowed to exist; and the process of accumu- 
lation would never cease, until all the land, and with it 
all political power should be withdrawn from those who 
might be expected to sympathise with the weak and 
poor, who most need the protection and aid of govern- 
ment. This would be so absurd that the history of 
human folly records no instance of a people who have 
based their institutions on such a principle. All aris- 
tocracies, ancient and modern, have had their rise from 
a different source, but their use of power, however ac- 
quired, has always been such as I have here supposed. 
Thus the noblesse of France, under the old regime se- 
cured to themselves an exemption from all the burthen 
of the state, and the franchises of decayed boroughs in 
England were used to fortify and extend the rights of 
property and the privileges of wealth. 

We see. then how unsafe it is to trust to any thing 
like abstractions in a matter so practical as government. 
There is none which may not be carried out to conse- 
quences fatal to the well being of the community; and 
the philosophy of government will never admit that the 
happiness of millions shall be sacrificed to any theory 
however beautiful or plausible. The general proposi- 
tion is true, that all government established by the con- 
sent of the governed is legitimate and of justly binding 
authority. And yet I have shown you how such a go- 
vernment might eventuate in the most mischievous re- 
sults, so that this maxim must yield to another which 
declares the inalienable right of a majority of any com- 
munity to change its form of government, however 
established, whenever it is found not to be adapted to 
the happiness and safety of the people, or not suffi- 
ciently secured against mal-administration. Now this 
proposition is in contlict with the former; for while the 
one asserts the binding authority of a government 
founded on consent and compact, upon all alike, and of 
course requires the unanimous consent of all to rescind 



277 « 

it; the other affirms that a* majority have a right to 
abrogate the contract, and to impose a new one on their 
reluctant fellows. Seen in this light, this latter maxim 
savours of tyranny and usurpation; and therefore, 
though true, it is subject, nevertheless, to an important 
qualification. That qualification requires of the ma- 
jority, so to exercise the power thus conceded to them, 
as to give a good government to those for whom they 
undertake to act. To abolish a compact, estabttshing, 
by universal consent, a just and wholesome govern- 
ment, and, for the advancement of the separate interests 
of a majority, to impose on a reluctant minority a go- 
vernment unequal and unsafe, would be plainly a dis- 
honest abuse of mere physical power, and resolve all 
political rights into the right of the strongest. The 
right of a "majority to change the constitution, will be 
found, on strict examination, to be nothing more than 
the right of every people to good government. To un- 
derstand it otherwise would be to affirm that minorities 
have no rights. But no man can mean to affirm this. 
If nine men lose all their rights because ten men con- 
cur in wishing to invade them, then it rests with any 
one of the ten to reverse this state of things, and by 
the mere breath of his mouth to take away all the rights 
of his nine late confederates, and hand them over to 
the other party. 

But let us assume, as our starting point, the safe and 
rational principle, that exevy people has a right to a 
good government, and we shall find the true source of 
the .right of the majority to determine the choice of the 
community. In the absence of any tribunal to decide 
what is good, (and the nature of the case implies that 
there can be none but the community itself,) there is 
no way in which the question can be settled but by a 
vote, in which the majority of course prevails. 

The majority then, as I have already said, in pre- 
scribing a change of constitution, is not so much exer- 
cising an inherent right, as discharging a sacred trust, 
and performing a solemn duty. Acting under a neces- 
sity imposed by the very constitution of the world, 
they should feel that they are performing a function to 
i 24 



• 278 

which they have been called by the Creator himself. 
Their decision is no more infallible than that of any 
other human tribunal, and they should go to their task 
in fear and trembling. If foolish, it is their misfortune: 
if partial, it is their fault. In either case there is great 
mischief; but in the latter there is great wickedness. 

The assent then which binds the individual to sub- 
mit to the constitution and laws of his country, is not 
his consent to any particular form, but his consent to 
be a member of the community, a majority of which is 
the tribunal, appointed, as it were, by God himself, (for 
the right results from the nature of men and things,) 
to decide what form is best for the whole. From their 
decision there is no appeal; but their judgments are 
not necessarily right, because they are final and irre- 
versible. If they err, there is a wrong done to the 
dissentients — innocently, if through honest mistake — 
criminally, if through design. But either way a. wrong 
is done; for men are thus deprived of that great in- 
alienable right to good government, which forms the 
basis of the authority of the majority to act for all. 

There is no standard then of political truth, or po- 
litical justice, but expediency. Not that expediency, 
which looks only to the interests of a party, or the con- 
venience of the present hour, but that which is deter- 
mined by an enlarged and enlightened view of the per- 
manent interests of the whole community. If it be 
objected that there is danger in admitting a mere ma- 
jority told by the head to decide definitively in an affair 
of so much moment, the answer is, that the discussion 
of such a question supposes a people conscientiously 
desirous to know and do what is right. In any other 
mood, numbers, feeling their power, will ask no ques- 
tions as to their right to exercise it. But in that sober 
and discreet frame of mind, which disposes men to listen 
to the teachings of political morality, I repeat, that there 
can be no danger that a mere majority will venture on a 
step of so much consequence, or that any majority will 
take it which does not embody most of the wisdom, 
ability, virtue, and wealth of the community. It is 
idle to talk of what reason teaches, to men not in con- 



279 

dition to hear reason. Could the right of an infuriate 
mob, to overturn a wise, humane and just government, 
be disproved with mathematical certainty, the demon- 
stration would be thrown away upon them. We may 
surely be allowed to say, that if a nation goes mad, it 
must be left to come to its senses, without being un- 
derstood to affirm that it is right for men in their senses 
to act like madmen. 

I have necessarily digressed from my subject, while 
offering these ideas, intended to vindicate from miscon- 
struction the proposition which it was necessary to my 
argument to establish. That proposition may be stated 
thus: "That the proper standard of political truth and 
justice, is that expediency which looks, not to the in- 
terests of a party or to the convenience of the present 
hour, but which is determined by an enlarged and en- 
lightened view of the permanent interests of the whole 
community." 

Taking this maxim as our guide, we return to the 
subject announced in my last lecture. In that I showed 
you that the law of the colony of Virginia, which ori- 
ginally required a small freehold qualification in every 
voter, was founded on a principle of perfect equality 
among the members of the community. The question 
arising at the revolution may then be stated thus: "Had 
any thing happened, since the enactment of that law, 
which made it right for those who administered the 
government under it, to dispense with this qualifica- 
tion ?" 

In throwing oft' the dependence of the colony on the 
mother country, it became necessary to provide a form of 
government for the new state; and it was the duty of those 
who assumed this task to select the best. But what is 
best r If I have succeeded in any object I have proposed 
to myself in these lectures, it must have been in convinc- 
ing you that there is no best in government, but that an 
infinite variety of circumstances may require changes 
in the government which is best for one people, in 
order to fit it to another. So thought our revolutionary 
fathers; and hence, in their bill of rights, they put forth 
no theory of government, but content themselves, as I 



280 

have already mentioned, with affirming that, "of all the 
various modes and forms of government, that is best 
which is capable of producing the greatest degree of 
happiness and safety, and is most effectually secured 
against the danger of maladministration. " 

I think no one can object to this proposition, and 
that no one will deny that, if they who announced it 
were capable of discovering that precise form of go- 
vernment which, in their case, was best adapted to these 
ends, they were bound to adopt it. 

Pursuing their enquiries with this view, they were 
aware of the primary importance of establishing the 
authority of the government on the basis of a proper 
constituent body. This was to be the primiun mobile, 
the mainspring of the whole machine; and all must 
depend on its energy and the regularity of its action. 
How were these to be secured ? They give the answer 
to this question in the following formula: "That all 
m.en having sufficient evidence of permanent common 
interest with, and attachment to the community, have 
the right of suffrage." 

What they understood to be such sufficient evidence, 
appears by that clause of the constitution which de- 
clared that the right of suffrage should remain as then 
exercised; 01% in other words, which assigns an equal 
vote to every freeholder of fifty acres of land. The 
vindication of this provision is to be effected by showing 
that it afforded a reasonable promise of happiness and 
safety, and a reasonable security against mal -ad minis - 
tration, and 1 shall be warranted in contending that if 
this were so, it was to be preferred before any other 
plan less promising in these respects. 

The dangers to be guarded against in a republic are 
those which proceed from want of intelligence and want 
of virtue in the constituent assembly; and the great 
danger to public virtue is from a conflict between the 
interest of the individual and the interest of the state. 
If then, there be a class in the community on whose 
intelligence a reasonable reliance can be placed, and 
whose highest interests must always be identical with 
the happiness, safety, prosperity, and freedom of the 



231 

state, it must be eminently desirable to secure to that 
class a great influence in the public councils. 

Now, from the nature of the thing, a large majority 
of the freeholders of every country must be compara- 
tively small freeholders, and, 1 believe, that they are 
always not only comparatively, but absolutely small. 
A large estate in lands takes up so much room that 
such estates cannot be numerous, while there is nothing 
to prevent the multiplication of small ones. Hence it 
will be found, that the establishment of a low freehold 
qualification in the voter, will give a constituent body, 
of which a vast majority will come under the descrip- 
tion of small freeholders, and the powers of govern- 
ment will be therefore essentially in the hands of that 
class. 

Now if there is any evil to be apprehended from this, 
against which a security would be found in universal 
suffrage, it must be something prejudicial to the unre- 
presented poor. What could it be ? In the distribu- 
tion of the burthens of the state, the small freeholder 
would be more interested to tax the luxuries of the rich, 
which he never tastes, than the necessaries of the poor, 
which are alike necessary for him. If a direct tax is 
to be laid, there is none of which he will pay so small 
a proportion as a tax on land, of which he who has no 
freehold pays nothing, while much the larger part is 
paid by the few great proprietors. The only tax by 
which a man without property can be reached is a poll 
tax; and when a hundred small landholders reflect 
that, of that, each of them must pay as much as a large 
proprietor who owns as much land as all of them to- 
gether, interest will prompt them to add, in preference, 
something to the land tax, of which he is to pay as much 
as all of them together. 

It is sometimes triumphantly asked if a man should be 
required to carry arms in a war declared without consult- 
ing him. The answer to this will depend on the nature of 
the military service demanded. If he is merely required 
to defend the soil where he is allowed to be, though not 
his own, and the country that shelters and protects him, 
he has nothing to complain of. It would be different if 
24* 



282 

he were compelled into a war of conquest, and carried 
by forcible conscription into foreign lands. The last 
man in the community who would think of authorizing 
the employment of the militia in such service, is the 
small landholder. If ever any thing of the sort is 
attempted, it will be found that it proceeds from the 
eager ambition of the higher classes, and that reckless 
indifference to life and the comforts of life in the lower, 
which always disposes them to enlist as soldiers. So 
much indisposed are the small landholders to military 
service, that we rarely find one of them willing to enter 
the regular army, even as a commissioned officer. Mili- 
tary rank is the appanage of the younger sons and 
younger brothers of the higher classes; and in the army 
we see the extremes of society meeting, in obedience 
to that law of affinity between them, of which I have 
already spoken. The small landholder shoulders his 
musket to repel invasion if necessary; but, that being 
done, he returns to the cultivation of the soil, and leaves 
the honours and the glories of war alike to those who 
have a taste for such things. If the question of war 
or peace depends on him, he will be the last to declare 
for war. There is none on whom the burthens of war 
fall so heavily as on him. His resources are diminished 
by the reduced price of his productions; he has no luxu- 
ries to retrench, so as to reduce his expenditure in pro- 
portion, but> on the contrary, his necessaries demand a 
higher price, while he has less means of paying for 
them. There is a class above him which may expe- 
rience some slight inconvenience from war, and a class 
below him that gorges on its offal, but to him it is a 
blighting curse, and he hails the return of peace as an 
escape from ruin. So far as depends on him, the coun- 
try will be saved from that dangerous passion for mili- 
tary glory and foreign conquest, which is the charac- 
teristic and the curse of democracies. 

If the preponderance of the rich in the councils of the 
state is feared, there is no security so effectual as power 
in the hands of a class between the rich and poor. The 
reciprocal jealousy of the proximate classes may al- 
ways be safely relied on. There is none who looks 



283 

with so much envy on the lord of broad and fertile 
lands, as he who draws a scanty subsistence from a 
small and sterile field. He gives him none of his sym- 
pathy, and it is his pride to think that his little farm, 
poor as it is, makes him independent of the other's fa- 
vour. There are those in every community, who may 
be bought by the hundred for a glass of whiskey. The 
small landholders are not of these. Taken as a class, 
they are impassive to the corrupting influence of 
wealth. To that class, taken collectively, freedom, 
justice, security, stability, and the general prosperity 
of the whole community, are more precious than any 
thing that prince, or nabob, or demagogue can offer. 
It is a class which never did betray a country to despo- 
tism or anarchy: a class which wealth is not rich 
enough to purchase: — which ambition is never crafty 
enough to beguile. Nothing can be proposed, nothing 
imagined, good for that class collectively, which is not 
good for the community at large. There is none which 
feels itself so perfectly identified with the state. It 
not only draws its subsistence from the soil, but lives 
on it. The wealthy owner of large estates may dwell 
in cities. He values the soil, but he does not learn to 
love it. The small farmer takes his nourishment from 
it, as it were from the breast of his mother. The other 
is weaned and fed by hand, and, as he gorges his full 
meal he does not draw his chief delight from looking 
on the fair face of nature that smiles on him as in love. 
The man of wealth, or the man of high intellectual en- 
dowments may be tempted by gain or ambition to sa- 
crifice his country. The small landholder is too sen- 
sible of his limited means to venture on any such rash 
experiments. He is his country's, and hers only. He 
is altogether hers, and she is his all. 

I beg you to observe moreover, that there is no other 
basis of representation, which so well adapts itself to 
changes in the condition of society. If all be land- 
holders, then all are represented. When the advance 
of society, and the accumulation of property, have 
reached that point at which the rich exercise an influ- 
ence over the very poor, which might be dangerous, the 



284 

danger is averted, for the disfranchisement of the latter 
makes him a harmless instrument in the hands of the 
former. Arm him with the ballot and he becomes 
a sharp and ready weapon wielded at-will. In a far- 
ther advance of society, when the poor, more numerous 
and hungry, are disposed to turn upon their former 
patrons, and invade the rights of property, the class 
of small landholders still imposes the authority of its 
elective franchise, to give security to the one party and 
relief to the other. In short, no body can be found so 
well endued with the steadiness proper for defence, 
and at the same time with the vis inertias which dis- 
qualifies it for usurpation, as the class of small land- 
holders. 

Gentlemen, if the definition of good government 
given by our fathers be just, what better security for 
such a government can human wisdom devise than such 
a constituent body as this? Certainly, if there be any 
one feature in the old constitution of Virginia, which, 
more than all the rest, entitles its frame rs to the praise 
of a regulated zeal for liberty, tempered by wisdom 
and prudence, it is that short clause which declared 
that the right of suffrage should remain unchanged. 

I have dwelt thus much on this particular feature of 
the original constitution of Virginia, because, though 
it is now but a thing of history, it affords an instruc- 
tive lesson. At present, our business is less with that 
which is, than with that which has been. It is from 
the history of the past that we draw wisdom for present 
and future use. 

The constitution adopted by Virginia at the revolu- 
tion, was a stumbling block and an offence to political 
theorists as long as it endured. It worked wellj and, 
while they busied themselves in proving, to demonstra- 
tion, that its operation must be evil, it continued to work 
well, and, by giving the lie to their demonstrations, did 
but the more provoke their resentment. But, while I 
condemn this uncandid and unteachable spirit, I would 
not have you understand me as condemning theoretical 
views of government. Sound theory is never falsified 
by results. The error is in beginning to theorize too 



285 

soon, and in confiding too much in untried theories. We 
reason from cause to effect, and where history affords 
examples where the effect we would produce has re- 
sulted from the causes we are about to put in action, 
we may confide in conclusions thus verified by expe- 
rience. But where history furnishes no such examples, 
we should go to the work of theory and experiment in 
an humble, cautious and docile mood. In such a mood 
the people of Virginia, ten years ago, would have 
doubted the wisdom of throwing away the old consti- 
tution under which she had been free and happy for 
more than half a century; and her political leaders, in- 
stead of reading lectures on fair and fanciful theories, 
would have put themselves to school to experience, and 
tried to discover the true secret of so much practical 
excellence. They had seen the experiment of uni- 
versal suffrage tried elsewhere, and if they saw nothing 
in its fruits which they had reason to envy, they per- 
haps accounted for the failure by reflecting that the 
people among whom it had bee.n tried were not Vir- 
ginians. I shall be the last to deride the feeling which 
suggested the solution, but it might have been wise to 
reflect that Virginia, perhaps, was what she was, because 
her institutions had made her so. That very feeling 
had probably no other origin. While Virginia en- 
trusted all authority in her affairs only to those who 
furnished evidence of a permanent common interest in 
all that concerned her rights, her welfare, and her 
honour, she had reason to expect that her sons would 
cultivate the pride of birth, and love of country that 
distinguished them. They were proud of her, and she 
of them. It was their pride to make her name re- 
spected and honoured everywhere, and it was her pride, 
to place in her posts of honour and distinction, those 
who were worthy to uphold her fame. 

Has there been a change in this respect ? Too much 
of the impression made on my mind in early life re- 
mains to this day, to permit me to speak of her but in 
the spirit of that loyal allegiance and devoted faith, 
which, under all circumstances, have bound me to her. 
In the distant land where so much of my life has been 



286 

spent, my heart still cleaved to her. Her sons were 
my brothers, and I never saw one of them, who, in de- 
claring the place of his birth, did not speak with the 
flashing eye of honest and exulting pride. God forbid 
that I should ever bring myself to speak of her with 
diminished respect! To do so now, and here, would be 
to wrong my own feelings and yours, and to wrong this 
venerable institution, identified with her old renown. 
But I cannot conceal from myself the fact that her esti- 
mation abroad is not what it has been. When I seek 
the cause of this, and look for such indications of de- 
generacy as might justify it, I find that she still numbers 
among her sons men not less distinguished than for- 
merly, by wisdom, and virtue, and energy, and unshaken 
devotion to her rights and ardent zeal for her honour. 
On every hand I see men who might grace the councils 
of the most enlightened nations upon earth. But 
where do I find them ? Does she wear them, as of old, 
like jewels on her brow ? Does she still point to them, 
like the Roman matron, as her treasure and her pride? 
It is among them that the people of other states still 
look for the counsels of wisdom and the sacrifices of 
patriotism. But the men to whom they look are driven 
from the service of their native state, and condemned 
to obscurity. Formerly it was remarked of Virginia, 
that, although in safe and tranquil times her govern- 
ment was administered by second and third rate men, 
yet, on every emergency, the best talents of the state 
were otfered' for public service, and eagerly accepted. 
It might happen that a particular post might be denied 
to a man of acknowledged virtue and distinguished 
ability, but he was not, for that reason, set aside as un- 
worthy of all trust and confidence. If he felt that his 
country needed his services, he tendered them, and a 
place was found for him where he could be useful. 
Not so now. A sentence of utter disqualification is 
unhesitatingly pronounced against the best and ablest, 
and the- halls that once listened to the counsels of wis- 
dom, and echoed the strains of eloquence, now witness 
the low wrangles, and dishonest acts of vulgar igno- 
rance and base intrigue. 

If I were required to point out the cause of this la- 



287 

mentable change I am not sure that I should ascribe it to 
any single cause. But I should be at no loss to say, 
that the extension of the right of suffrage to men not 
having a common and permanent interest in the honour 
and welfare of the state, must have been highly instru- 
mental in producing it. To the same cause I should 
ascribe in great measure the abatement of that state 
pride which once made a zeal for the rights and sove- 
reignty of the states of this Union a characteristic of 
Virginia. Among her statesmen these things were 
prized and cherished for their practical value to free- 
dom and the equal rights of all. With them, their al- 
legiance to the sovereignty of the state was founded on 
their conviction that that sovereignty was the only sure 
and ultimate guardian of all that is dearest to man. 
But the reasonings which led them to this conclusion 
were not level to the understandings of the multitude. 
Yet, in these too, the same attachment existed, not as a 
principle, but as a sentiment, about which they did not 
condescend to reason. That sentiment has passed 
away, and Virginia no longer claims to be regarded as 
a sun sole and self-poised, but is content to be looked 
on only as a planet of one great concentric system. 

I have already intimated to you that the change in 
the constitution of Virginia was not the natural effect 
of causes operating within herself, but superinduced by 
influences from without. I shall hereafter have occa- 
sion to show you that the very purpose for which these 
influences were exerted, was to produce that change in 
the character of her people of which I have here spoken. 
I expect to show you, at the proper time, that the ad- 
vocates of "centralism saw, that the great battle of 
federal usurpation was to be fought in the convention 
which changed the constitution of Virginia. It was 
fought and won; and the power of Virginia is broken, 
and her pride is humbled, and her word which once 
"had stood against the world/' is heard but heeded not. 

In conclusion, gentlemen, let me say, that we must 
cease to consider political science as an affair of prac- 
tical wisdom: we must renounce all the teachings of 
experience, before we can consecrate, as an essential 



28S 

right of man, a pretension fatal to his happiness. If the 
affairs of a people will be most discreetly administered 
by the ignorant; if the reign of virtue will be best se- 
cured by the authority of the vicious; if the elements 
of happiness will be most carefully cultivated by those 
who are strangers to that essential happiness whose seat 
is in the mind; then may the claim of all men, in all 
conditions, to an equal voice in the councils of a nation, 
be fully justified. Until then we must be permitted to 
believe that there is something radically false in a prin- 
ciple, which, in its operation, overturns the empire of 
reason, inverts the order of natural society, dethrones 
the mind of the community from its just supremacy, 
and assigns the tasks of thought to the unthinking, and 
the authority of law to those who should be the sub- 
jects of its corrective discipline. 

That such has been the tendency of the extension of 
suffrage in Virginia, is manifest to all who are familiar 
with the composition of her legislature as it once was, 
and as it is. That the mischief has been less among us 
than in some other states of this Union, is to be attri- 
buted in part to the institution of domestic slavery. 
Of this I shall speak hereafter. 



To the Editor of the S. L. Messenger. 

The following Essay was prepared to be read before 
the National Institute, at their meeting of April 1st, 
1844. The writer, having been invited to deliver an 
address, or to read a paper before that assembly, ac- 
cepted the invitation, and announced that his subject 
would be "the Moral and Political Influence of the 
Relation between the Caucasian Master and the African 
Slave." He was aware that apprehensions might be en- 
tertained, that, in the angry and excited state of public 
feeling, this subject might be brought forward by a 
citizen of the injured and insulted south, with some 



289 

purpose of recrimination. Hence he took the precau- 
tion to assure the secretary of the institute, that he in- 
tended nothing of the sort, and that the views he pro- 
posed to present could not, by possibility, give offence 
to the most sensitive. Still he was not surprised at 
receiving in reply a letter advising him to forbear the 
subject. He had learned indeed that "a soft answer 
turneth away wrath," but he knew, too, that there arc 
circumstances onder which every attempt to soothe 
does but exasperate. There are some substances 
which, in combustion, decompose and convert into ex- 
plosive gas the water that is used to quench them, and 
philanthropy, it seems, is supposed to possess an analo- 
gous property. He therefore readily accented the ad- 
vice so kindly given, and forbore to press the claim of 
the south to plead at the bar of public opinion against 
the charges on which she had been condemned unheard. 
Rhadamanthus castigat, auditque. He punishes first, 
but, if the victim has any thing to say, he will then hear 
him. The methods of philanthropy are yet more stern. 
She will not hear even then. 

The writer on his part, delighted at an opportunity 
to plead the cause of humanity at the bar of philoso- 
phy, and before a jury de medietate, had immediately 
addressed himself to his task, and before the receipt of 
this discouraging letter, had written more than half the 
following es^ay. Having begun, he determined to go 
on with it, and, in handing it to the Messenger, sees no 
need to throw it into a different form. 

It will be seen that he has treated only on the moral 
part of the subject. He soon found that he could not 
do justice to the whole in a single essay of appropriate 
length, either for a public audience, or the pages of a 
periodical. At another time he may ask you to give 
place to his thoughts on the political effect of domestic 
slavery. 

To the Hon. Charles J. lngersoll. 

Sir: I am happy in an opportunity to dedicate the 
following essay to one who has shown a wish to know 
25 



290 

the truth, and to judge with candour and justice on the 
subject of which he treats. It is so convenient to let 
prejudice supply the place of information; so easy to 
censure what we do not understand; so pleasant to 
magnify faults which we have no temptation to commit; 
and so consolatory to repent of the sins of other men, 
that he who magnanimously denies himself these cheap 
enjoyments, well deserves to receive some equivalent 
therefor. I have nothing better to offer than my poor ac- 
knowledgments. I beg you to accept them, and with 
them the assurance that the people of the south are not 
insensible to the candour, justice and humanity which 
characterize your conduct in regard to an interest 
which lies not nearer to their purses than to their hearts. 
With assurances of the highest respect, 

I beg leave to subscribe myself 
Your obedient servant. 



LECTURE XVI. 

An Essay on the Moral and Political Effect of the Re- 
lation between the Caucasian Master and the African 
Slave. 

Gentlemen: I am not sure but that some may think 
that I owe an apology for introducing the subject to 
which I invite your attention. Did I propose to treat 
it in the angry and contentious spirit it so often excites, 
no apology ought to be received. I beg leave to assure 
you, in advance, that I have no such purpose. The 
subject is one intimately connected with the happiness 
and the duties of a large portion of the inhabitants of 
the United States. It is at least important that they 
should understand it rightly. These, on their part, 
have reason to wish, that they whom it does not so im- 
mediately concern, and who judge of it at a distance, 
should see it in its true light. The love of reputation 
is natural to man, and it is not easy for any one to sit 
down under the reproach of the world, entirely satisfied 



291 

with the judgment of his own conscience. This indeed 
is indispensable, but this is not all. 

In this assembly, devoted to the cause of science, the 
discussion of a subject connected with the two impor- 
tant sciences of government and morality cannot be 
out of place. In a catholic association intended to 
harmonize the feelings and judgments of those who 
have so much in common, it is desirable that every 
thing possible should be done to convince all of the 
wisdom and justice of opinions and conduct, which, 
though confined to a part, that part cannot be expected 
to change. In an association intended to collect, as in 
a focus, the light emanating from every part of this ex- 
tensive union, it would seem the duty of each to bring 
forward his ideas on subjects which he most particularly 
understands, and these are the very subjects to which 
others, possessing less means of knowledge may be ex- 
pected to give the most willing attention. 

In an assembly, so enlightened as this, I should not 
presume to open my lips on a subject of general sci- 
ence. To attempt it would be but to give back to the sun 
a dim reflection of his own light. And this society 
itself — what is it, but a member of that great society of 
scientific men throughout Christendom, which is in per- 
petual session for the discovery of truth, and for so dis- 
seminating it, as to make the knowledge of each the 
knowledge of all? It is true that the sun of science 
has but lately risen on this western world ; and it is 
not to be expected that much will be discovered here 
in departments which the learned of Europe have been 
long exploring, with all the advantages that we possess. 
Although something of this sort has occasionally been 
accomplished, yet Europe may be expected to look 
coldly and discouragingly on such researches. The 
praise due for discoveries and improvements actually 
made has been grudgingly awarded. But let us speak 
of what is peculiar to our own country, and straight- 
way the jealousy of our European masters in art and 
science is appeased, and the most learned are the most 
ready to become our pupils, and to increase their ample 
stores of knowledge from our authentic materials. 



292 

Cuvier himself would take instruction from the illite- 
rate miner, and draw from his facts conclusions to elu- 
cidate the great marvel of Creation. 

To the great marts of science, where its votaries 
congregate for the exchange of knowledge for know- 
ledge, and thought for thought, each man should come 
freighted with that which his own country yields, and 
especially that which cannot be found elsewhere. 
Should there appear among us an inhabitant of the in- 
teresting but unknown country of Oregon, professing 
to tell us of its soil and climate, its streams, mountains 
and minerals, we should listen with patient interest to 
all he might say concerning these, though, on any other 
subject, his best thoughts might be unworthy of notice. 
In like manner, gentlemen, I, who, on any other topic 
but that I have selected, should sit in the place of a 
learner, venture respectfully to claim the attention of 
this enlightened assembly to what I shall oiler, con- 
cerning the great moral and political phenomenon which 
forms the striking and peculiar feature in the character 
and history of some of the states of this Union. 

I am aware I may be met with the sound legal maxim, 
u Nemo in propria causa Judex. ." But my business is 
to reason and to testify — not to decide. Reason stands 
for itself resting on its own strength; and in an assem- 
bly like this we owe it to each other to receive testi- 
mony as true, and even judgment as candid. Why 
should it be otherwise? No claim of right, no interest 
is involved in any discussion here. Elsewhere, unfor- 
tunately, this is not the case. In the only other place 
where this topic can be discussed between those among 
whom the institution of domestic slavery exists, and 
those who are strangers to it, it is so blended with ques- 
tions of political power and individual interest, that it 
is always a subject of altercation, and not discussion. 
Do not the very bitterness it excites, the angry crimi- 
nation, the fierce recrimination it provokes, demand a 
calm and candid investigation of its real merits r Shall 
I not stand excused for offering the results of a life's 
experience and reflection on a subject so differently un- 
derstood by those, who, it is to be wished, may be 



293 

brought to see it in the same light? Shall I be blamed 
for ottering to pour oil upon the wave which is beating 
against the foundations of the Union, and threatens to 
wash it from its base ? 

The empire of opinion has its tribunals before which 
all are liable to be arraigned, and none should deny 
their jurisdiction, who do not desire to see that mild 
and ameliorating authority exchanged for the restored 
empire of the sword. The spirit of our institutions 
and the spirit of the age alike demand an account of 
every thing which seems like a disturbance of the na- 
tural equality or an invasion of the natural rights of 
man. Our large experience of the blessing of per- 
sonal and civil liberty, awakens in every benevolent 
mind a desire to see that blessing extended to every 
individual of the human race. But what is liberty, 
and how far it may be enjoyed by all, are questions of 
acknowledged difficulty. While we believe it to be the 
will of God that the life he has given should be a life of 
happiness to all, and that the sources of happiness distri- 
buted throughout the earth should be enjoyed by all, we 
cannot shut our eyes to the fact that he himself has 
thrown obstacles in the way of that equality of enjoy- 
ment which we have assumed to be his general purpose. 
He has made the sources of enjoyment more accessible 
to some than to others, and He has endowed different 
individuals with capacities for enjoyment yet more va- 
rious than the faculties and opportunities by which its 
means are to be procured. These two points of diver- 
sity in the human race have led some to charge their 
Maker with partiality: while others, well pleased to ob- 
serve that whatever advantage is alloted to some over 
the rest, is in their favour, are quite ready to acquiesce 
in the justice of the arrangement. 

Both are in error, and the error in both is proved by 
the false corollaries they themselves deduce from their 
reasoning. In the first it leads to envy, hatred and 
malice, and to all those crimes which it is the office of 
government to restrain and of law to punish. In the 
last it stifles sympathy; it nourishes false pride; it en- 
genders false appetites and stimulates to indulgence 
25* 



294 

and excess, by which the moral and intellectual man is 
transformed from the image of his God to that of a 
beast. These indeed are not denounced by law as 
crimes, for no law can reach them. But they are not 
the less evil because incorrigible. 

But how shall we vindicate the justice of the Crea- 
tor, unless we find some principle of compensation for 
these glaring inequalities ? And where shall we find 
one, unless indeed one of these inequalities affords a 
compensation for the other ? Let us see how this may 
be. 

Money is the common measure of values, and wealth 
supplies the fund with which most enjoyments may be 
purchased. There are few sources of happiness to be 
explored and appropriated, to which wealth will not 
procure access, while it furnishes the price we must 
pay for them. The faculties which are most rare and 
most valuable to others, aftbrd the possessor the surest 
means of acquiring wealth. Foremost among these, 
because rarest and most precious, are the powers of 
the mind, knowledge, genius, readiness of comprehen- 
sion, originality of thought, soundness and sobriety of 
judgment, and all that marvellous combination which 
chiefly distinguishes man from his fellows, and to which 
collectively we give the name of talent. These have 
but to name their price, and it is readily, cheerfully, 
thankfully paid. 

In this assembly I see myself surrounded by those 
whose presence here is a proof of high excellence in 
these endowments. But are these the wealthy of the 
land ? By no means. And why not ? There is not 
one present whose consciousness will not testify to the 
truth of the answer I am about to give.. 

It is because the gift of intellectual superiority is, 
by the wise dispensation of the Creator, associated 
with peculiar tastes and desires. The gifted son of 
genius does not so much as stretch forth his hand to 
take the wealth that courts his acceptance, because his 
thoughts are fixed on some of the few sources of en- 
joyment that wealth cannot purchase. The delight of 
revelling amid the creations of fancy, the hardy joy of 



295 

tasks of thought, the love of knowledge, for its own 
sake, the desire to diffuse the light of truth, and to 
advance the empire of mind, the desire to promote the 
welfare of our country and the happiness of the human 
race; above all, the love of honest fame, the just re- 
ward of intellectual excellence and moral worth, and 
active service in the cause of humanity — these are the 
instincts of greatness. Turning from the low pursuit 
of wealth, it is with these that minds of a high order 
satisfy their natural cravings. Disdaining to scramble 
for the draff and husks that fill the common trough, 
they take nothing from the fund that supplies the enjoy- 
ments of others. On the contrary, the fruit of their 
labors is to replenish that fund. The rich man is made 
richer, and the comforts of the poor are increased by 
their discoveries in art and science, and the happiness 
of all is secured by their wisdom and justice. Is it the 
worse, or the better, for those who court wealth; for 
those who delight to revel in the pleasures of sense; 
for those who wisely limit their desires to moderate 
competency; or for those who find their happiness in 
the bland sweets of domestic life, that God has been 
pleased to endow each man here present with faculties 
of a higher order than theirs, and to implant in each 
bosom a source of enjoyment which would be ill ex- 
changed for the mines of Golconda ? 

I am persuaded, gentlemen, that there is not one 
member of this assembly, who does not bear within his 
own breast a witness to the truth of what I have just 
said. It would be superfluous to add examples to 
illustrate the means devised by the Creator for equal- 
izing the opportunities of happiness among his crea- 
tures, and multiplying the sources of enjoyment in 
proportion to the number who partake of it. But other 
instances abound in which the very antagonism of 
tastes, capacities and powers, is made reciprocally a 
source of happiness to all concerned. I beg you to 
observe the multiplied diversities between the male and 
female character, contrived with a view to the hap- 
piness and to the moral and intellectual excellence of 
both. Is it by chance, or by any necessary conse- 



296 

quence of his sex, that man is bold, hardy, enterprising, 
contentious, delighting to struggle with difficulty, de- 
lighting in contests with his fellows, and eager to bear 
away the prize of every strife ? Woman, on the con- 
trary, timid, feeble, helpless, shrinks within the do- 
mestic sanctuary, and feels that the great want of her 
nature is security for herself and her offspring. This 
she owes to the exercise and indulgence of the dis- 
tinctive powers and passions of him to whom she looks 
for protection, while he, in her trusting helplessness 
and grateful love, finds the reward of his toils, the 
crown of his triumphs and the consummation of his 
felicity. 

So far, without any stretch of presumption, we may 
venture to believe that we understand the design of 
the Creator. But the world is full of phenomena, 
physical and moral, which admonish us that many of 
his ways are "past finding out." We everywhere see 
a sort of affinity of opposition, a sympathy of antago- 
nism, a combination of incompatibilities, while one 
strange wild strain of harmonious discord rises from 
the whole. In all things we find a sort of polarity, 
which suggests the idea of absolute incongruity be- 
tween things to all appearance irreconcilably hostile to 
each other, when presently we see them drawn to- 
gether by the power of an irresistible and exclusive 
attraction. On this strange law depends the whole 
theory of chemical affinities. Substances similar, or 
not much unlike, may mix and blend, but each retains 
its own properties. Contrast and opposition are ne- 
cessary to that intimate combination which produces a 
new substance. In this, all the sharpness and asperi- 
ties of the constituent parts are lost forever, and things 
which before seemed eager to contend with each other 
to make the life of man their prey, unite to form a 
healing drug that restores him to health and vigour. 

In the moral world we see much analogous to this. 
It is surely not by chance, that the human race, sprung 
from one common parent, has undergone the various 
modifications that make the difference between the in- 
tellectual Caucasian, the fierce Malay, the soft Hindoo, 



297 

the rude but docile Negro, arid the brutish and in- 
tractable New Hollander. If we inquire after the 
modus operandi by which these changes were wrought, 
the naturalist may tell us of the influence of climate. 
But who made climates to dift'er, and who shall limit 
the power of the Most High to counteract their in- 
fluence were such his will ? It was clearly his de- 
sign that these diversities should exist. Shall we deny 
ourselves liberty to investigate his purpose in this? 
Let me not belold that it is presumptuous to scan his 
purposes. To question their wisdom and justice is 
indeed presumptuous. But the instinct of religion in 
the heart of man has taught him, in all ages, to in- 
quire his Maker's will, that he might live in conformity 
to it. Hence the universal craving after revelation. 
Hence the readiness with which every thing professing 
to be revelation has ever been received. Man has felt 
it to be his duty to know the character and purposes 
of his Creator. He has felt that the Creator must 
desire to reveal himself and his will to his creature. 
The research which was piety in Socrates, Plato and 
Tully — can it be impious now ? 

But God has himself revealed his "great purpose in 
the creation of the human race. It is the eternal hap- 
piness of all, through faith in the Redeemer of the 
world. It is his declared will that all shall come to 
the knowledge of that truth on which eternal life de- 
pends. Can we believe in any purpose inconsistent 
with this? In contemplating the divine tactic ac- 
cording to which the whole human race is marshalled, 
are we not bound to seek some way of reconciling the 
details to this great end ? Are we not authorized to 
believe that, in some way incomprehensible to us, 
these and all things else are subservient to it? We 
see the various products of the earth so widely scat- 
tered over its surface, as to invite to a universal ex- 
change of commodities. In the universal intercourse 
of man with man to which this leads, we find the 
motive to this distribution. It diffuses knowledge 
over every part of the globe, and makes the seed of 
Shem and Canaan partakers of the great truth com- 
mitted to the restless and enterprising race of Japhet. 



298 

The diversities in the human species may be intended 
to conduce to the same great purpose. They suggest 
the idea that each race may be useful to the other, and 
may lead to combinations by which the condition of all 
may be improved, and the light of truth diffused among 
all. We plainly see how the other races may derive 
advantage from their intercourse with the Caucasian. 
It is not as yet so plain what benefit we may receive in 
return from the Malay or the Hottentot. Time may 
show. But in the case of the negro the discovery has 
been made. It was seen that his labour might be ap- 
propriated and turned to profit, and this led the white 
man to seek to open intercourse and form a connection 
with him. The motive was indeed unworthy and 
sordid, but the result has been the physical; intellectual 
and moral improvement of the inferior race, and, in 
some respects, of both. 

I proceed to show thisj for I freely admit that, if 
the connection between the Caucasian and African 
races has not been attended with moral good, every 
apology that can be offered for it must be rejected. 

On the other hand, it may be fairly contended, that, 
if the temporal results are good, and promise well for 
the future welfare of both parties, then, though such 
results may not justify the means used to establish the 
connection, yet the connection itself is good and ought 
not rashly to be sundered. The actual working of the 
great machinery contrived by the All-Wise Creator 
cannot be far from right, when it tends to the great 
declared purpose of the creation — the temporal and 
eternal happiness of his creatures. 

It is a striking fact, that, of all the sons of Adam, 
that particular family to which God chose first to 
commit his oracles, have always proved themselves, 
God being himself the witness, the most stiff-necked, 
rebellious, intractable and unteachable. It is in perfect 
harmony with this, that the European nations, to which 
the Gospel of love, and peace and humility, was first 
communicated have been distinguished in all ages by 
systematic, far-seeing, concentred selfishness, by a 
taste for war, by restless ambition and indomitable 



299 

pride. Is there no reason for this: would the Jews, who 
hardly believed when God spoke to them in thunder 
from Sinai, have received the testimony of man ? And 
is not their stubborn incredulity, at this day the strongest 
human evidence of the truth of the Old Testament, which 
even they believe ? Were all Jews, would all believe 
in Jehovah, unless every mountain were a Horeb — every 
stream a Jordan, witnesses of his miracles? And the 
Anglo-Saxon race, the great herald of moral and poli- 
tical truth — were they to whom they carry their tidings 
and their lessons such as themselves, would they submit 
to be taught, unless their teachers could sustain their 
testimony by miracles such as authenticated that of the 
apostles? The stream which is to water the land and 
replenish the ocean must flow from the mountains, and 
the vapours that feed them must be raised from the 
earth by a power which is not of the earth, that they 
may be collected and precipitated on eminences which 
must otherwise be doomed to eternal drought. To turn 
back the course of the rivers to the mountains would be 
hardly more preposterous than to attempt to diffuse truth 
by sending it from the credulous to the sceptical, from 
the humble to the proud, from the timid to the bold, from 
the stupid to the intellectual. Hard as it was to make 
believers of Jews, and christians of Europeans, it was 
with them that the task of enlightening and evangeliz- 
ing the world had to commence. 

When I thus show, that the precious truths of the 
gospel have been first imparted to us for the benefit of 
others, to the end that, having freely received, we should 
freely give, it will be seen that I have at least entitled 
myself to the praise of candour. I have made a case 
of solemn and important duty imposed by the blessings 
we enjoy, and prescribed as the very condition of their 
enjoyment. How we have performed this duty is a 
question we are bound to answer, and in doing this we 
must not palter with our Maker, or shrink from the 
strict account that the giver of all good demands. 

It would be worse than disingenuous, it would be 
false to pretend that the first intercourse between the 
sons of Japhet and Canaan took its rise from these con- 



300 

siderations. The attempt to trace their connection to 
such a cause would be absurd and impudent. It ori- 
ginated in cupidity; it was effected by violence and 
outrage; and characterized by the most barbarous 
cruelty. These things I do not propose to palliate. I 
have no wish, and I can have no motive to do so. It 
is a matter that touches us not. The sin is not ours 
nor that of our fathers. But whoever were the perpe- 
trators, candour suggests a sort of apology, not only for 
their first fault, but for their more recent zeal to re- 
dress the supposed wrong of their victims. We have 
but to think of the African as he appeared at first to 
the European, hardly bearing the lineaments of hu- 
manity, in intellect scarcely superior to the brutes, and 
mainly distinguishable from them by the greater variety 
of his evil propensities, and by a something answering 
the purposes of speech better — though not much bet- 
ter — than the chattering of monkeys. Use has made 
us familiar with the colour of the negro, and expe- 
rience has made us acquainted with his heart and mind. 
Having learned to love him, let us not marvel to find a 
sympathy for his supposed wrongs in the breasts of 
those who once may have doubted whether he had a 
soul to be saved, or how his Maker could hold him 
responsible for the faults of a nature at once his crime 
and his punishment. 

But it is not to censure, to palliate, or to justify that 
I advert to this. I speak of it only as a fact; as the 
starting point from whence we are to trace the moral 
influence of the actually subsisting relation between the 
two races. 

That, since that relation was first established, there 
is a great moral improvement in both will not be de- 
nied. The remarkable fact is, that this is greatest in 
those particulars which most influence, and are most 
influenced by that relation. So far as hatred has given 
place to love, dishonesty to fidelity, licentiousness to 
modesty, so far the change must meet the approbation 
of him, who, regarding the heart as the seat of crime, 
condemns every one who, even in thought, commits 
murder, adulterv, or theft. I am well aware that this 



301 

change is, in part, attributed, by those who view it from 
a distance, to a sort of moral coercion exerted by public 
opinion in this enlightened and moral age. It were well 
if this were so. The same opinion might also exert its 
influence in favour of the peasantry of the old conti- 
nent and the labouring class in Great Britain. But, 
strangely enough, it has happened that while the white 
man was learning to appreciate the good qualities pecu- 
liar to the negro, and while the slave was learning to 
love his master, a change of precisely opposite charac- 
ter was going on in Europe. That change has deluged 
her realms with blood, and still threatens to overthrow 
all her institutions, political, social and mora!. One 
who will acquaint himself with the passionate loyalty, 
on the one hand, and the mild paternal authority, on the 
other, of the Irish peasant and his landlord a century 
ago, will find something not widely different from the 
mutual sentiments of the master and slave at this day. 
What may be seen in Ireland now is surely not much 
better than the slavery of the African ever was in its 
worst form. The bond of sympathy that once con- 
nected the landed proprietor with all who lived upon 
his land is severed, while a like sympathy has been 
engendered between the white man and his negro slave. 
If it be true that "love is the fulfilling of the whole 
law," then, in a moral and religious point of view, the 
growth of this sentiment between two races before 
divided by the strongest antipathies, is an approach 
toward that blessed condition when all the earth shall 
be full of the knowledge of the Lord, and all hearts 
shall be knit together in love for the sake of Him who 
loves them all. In that day, we are told, "that the lion 
shall eat straw like the ox, and the wolf shall dwell 
with the lamb, and the sucking child shall play on the 
hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand 
in the cockatrice's den." How is this to be understood ? 
Literally — of the beasts of the fen and forest? Bv no 
means. The lion must cease to be a lion in his physical 
nature before he can cease to live on flesh. May we 
not rather understand it of the lordly white lion of 
Caucasus, of the patient negro ox, of the fierce red 
26 



302 

wolf of our western wilds, of the meek Hindoo Iamb| 
of the serpent-like Malay, with his envenomed creece, 
and the foul Hottentot hyena gorging on garbage ? All 
these are to be brought to harmonize and live in peace 
and love. The first step has been taken. The amicable 
union of two of these races has been brought about, 
though by means at first promising no such result. If 
these means were to be now used, the end might not 
justify them. It is not for us to do evil that good may 
come, for it may never come, or it might be divinely 
accomplished at no expense of evil. But when it is 
accomplished, shall we reject it? When the price has 
been paid and cannot be recalled ; when God has been 
pleased to overrule the evil to his own good purposes, 
shall we cast away the benefit? Above all, shall we 
make it a brand of discord between brethren of the 
same race, to consume, like withes of straw, the ties of 
a common origin, religion and language r I beseech 
you, gentlemen, let not this be so; and I pray you to 
hear me candidly, while I endeavour to show that the 
amelioration of the condition and character of the 
African slave in the United States, and the mild vir- 
tues which have taken place of savage cruelty in the 
breast of his master, are not the result of extrinsic 
causes, but the proper and natural fruit of their mutual 
relation; acting on the radical diversities between the 
Caucasian and the African races. 

The only sound morality is the morality of the gospel. 
Its sanction is faith — faith by which the heart is made 
better; — by which the will and affections are subdued 
to spontaneous obedience, through love to the author 
and founder of that faith. Its corner-stone is humility 
— its essential characteristic is subordination of the 
heart. Whatever habituates the mind of man to this, 
prepares him to receive God's truth in the love of it. 

*Such, I maintain, is the natural and proper effect of 
slavery on an inferior race, placed in direct subjection 
and immediate communication with a master race of 
unquestionable superiority, — a superiority clearly ad- 
mitted and manifested in all the affairs of life. So cir- 
cumstanced, the love of the slave for his master, is 



303 

developed by a sort of vis medicatrix Naturae. They 
who vindicate slavery as a prolonged war, offer but a 
lame defence; for war itself — what is it but violence 
and wrong ? And what must be the condition of both 
parties living together in a state of rankling hostility ? 
Must not both be eager to escape from a condition so 
wretched, by cultivating in both a more kindly senti- 
ment ? The slave particularly, who sees no escape 
from his thraldom, and whose master is ever present to 
him in person, or by a power which is felt continually, 
feels the necessity of engendering in his own breast a 
sentiment, by virtue of which his fate, otherwise in- 
tolerable, may be made happy. He must learn to love 
his master or be miserable. On the least encourage- 
ment his affections gush forth like a healing balsam 
issuing from the wound itself. This upward tendency 
of the slave's affection for his master points directly to 
the throne of God. Let it be extended in the same 
course, and it terminates there. It prepares the mind 
for a faith congenial to its temper, and never thrown 
off. It is steadfast and endures to the end. It may 
not always thoroughly sanctify. It may sometimes be 
so mixed with error as to fail to reform him; but it is 
never renounced. The spirit that chafes and frets at 
control, and would not have had God to rule over it, 
has been already subdued to the authority of a human 
and harder task-master, and the slave finds a sense of 
enlargement, not restraint, in bowing to the will of Him 
who is Lord of all. 

Many persons believe, (and the thought is so beauti- 
ful it well deserves to be true,) that the distinctive 
characteristics of some inferior animals were given for 
the edification of man. Qualities which make some 
pernicious to the human race become associated in our 
minds with abhorrence, loathing or disgust. Others 
seem set before us as lures to virtue for which we 
cherish them, which we learn to love in them, and to 
cultivate in ourselves. The child is easily turned away 
from vices habitually stigmatized with epithets coined 
from the most hateful names in his nursery tales. A 
whole volume of reproof is conveyed to the infant 



304 

mind, wSien he hears of wolfish rapacity, serpent guile 
or tiger-like ferocity. But apply to him the endearing 
epithets of lamb or clove, and his bright smile and 
laughing eye tell how sensibly he feels the approbation 
and love implied in such expressions. The moralist 
has availed himself of this, and the heart and mind 
receive few lessons more touching or more profound 
than are learned from the fables of iEsop and Gay. 
The latter avows that his apologues are written with 
this view. Every man who will analyse his own mind 
must be sensible how much he has learned from them, 
and no father would willingly dispense with such 
efficient helps in the great task of education. 

Of all the creatures by whose mute teachings and 
exhortations the mind is enlightened, and the heart 
made better, there is none that inculcates a lesson so 
salutary as that of the humble, faithful, affectionate 
and cheerful African slave to his proud, self-seeking, 
restless, discontented and unthankful master. Does 
that master ask, as he sometimes does, why he should 
love God, who requires of him that he should eat his 
bread in the sweat of his face; who punishes all his 
misdeeds and short-comings; who sometimes afflicts 
him when conscious of no fault; and whose eternal 
wrath is denounced against hardened impenitence? 
How must he stand rebuked, if he lifts his eye to mark 
the look of affectionate solicitude, which, at the mo- 
ment, is scanning his troubled and moody countenance; 
when he hears the kind tone that asks to know his 
wishes; when he sees the ready smile that accompanies 
the prompt obedience; and then reflects that these 
things come from one not his creature; whose powers 
and faculties are not of his gift; but of whom he re- 
quires all that God demands of him, and on whom he 
has sometimes inflicted severities he knows to have 
been unjust ? 

I beseech you, gentlemen, reject not this idea be- 
cause it may seem new and strange. It is not new. 
It is not strange. It is God's truth which he has often 
spoken to the heart of each one of you who is a father. 
The application alone is new. How often, when your 



305 

heart has relented over the meek and affectionate re- 
pentance of an offending child, have you heard those 
gracious words; "Like as a father pitieth his children!" 
And what does he demand in return ? That you should 
love him as a child ? Aye; and more than that. That 
you should love him as a slave loves his master, if he 
be only not harsh, oppressive and cruel. The love of 
the child may be warmer and fonder: but it is not so 
meek; not so trusting; not so patient; not so enduring; 
not so christian. The child buries the father, and di- 
vides the inheritance, and makes him a family of his 
own. The love of the slave cherishes his master's 
memory, when all besides have forgotten him, and 
watches over his grave like the meek and loving boy by 
his Redeemer's cross, when all besides had forsaken 
him and fled. The last tear that flows to the memory 
of a kind patriarchal master, trickles down the cheek 
of a slave. 

Do you demand the rationale of this? Do you in- 
sist that I shall show how it can be so? Will you con- 
tinue to believe that I labour under some strong delu- 
sion, (my sincerity you cannot doubt; — I know it — I 
feel it,) until I have proved by argument a priori, that 
such should be, and must be the natural and necessary 
result of his condition? I am ready to do so, for I de- 
rive the answer from the same divine example, which 
cannot mislead. 

God demands our hearts. He loves us as a father, 
and seeks our love in return. But does he seek it by 
the same means we use toward our children? His love 
is the §ame, but his discipline is far wiser. He does 
not expect love as the return for unpurchased benefits. 
All our comforts are the purchase of toil and care. He 
does not woo it by fond indulgence. "Jeshurun waxes 
fat, and kicks." He does not soothe by weak mistaken 
clemency. "He scourgeth every son whom he re- 
ceiveth." He does not seek to make a temporary re- 
lation, a relation soon to terminate in complete inde- 
pendence, the basis of an enduring empire over our 
hearts. He has bought us with a price. We are his, 
body and soul — for time and for eternity — now and 
26* 



306 

forever. He gives us food and rainfent, and bids us be 
therewith content; and he cheers our progress along 
the path of life by that gradual melioration of condi- 
tion, which rarely fails to attend on honest industry, 
and which our own experience tells us is best for hap- 
piness. The unfortunate fortunate few, who, without 
merit and without exertion, are suddenly advanced to 
situations and circumstances for which they are not 
prepared, who, envied at first, are found in the end to 
be objects of commiseration, seem set for examples 
from which the multitude may learn patience and con- 
tentment. Such are his methods with us, and precisely 
these he commends to the master in his treatment of 
the slave, by making such treatment conducive to his 
own comfort and prosperity. 

It is no part of my plan to speak of the physical 
condition of the slave. But I am constrained to ad- 
vert to it here, so far as to show the justness of the 
analogy I have pointed out. Without descending to 
details i will go so far as to say, that his condition is 
one of steadily progressive improvement in physical 
comforts and enjoyments. I will instance only one 
proof of this general proposition, which rests not on 
the testimony of individuals, but will be verified by all 
persons whose memories go back as much as half a 
century. It is the gradual increase of the stature of 
the slave, and his gradual improvement in personal ap- 
pearance and personal habits during that time. In this 
assembly it would be superfluous to argue from these 
facts, that there must have been, during, that time, a 
corresponding improvement in all the elements of com- 
fort and enjoyment. The most unpractised eye will 
be at once struck with the difference in these particu- 
lars, between those who have been for many genera- 
tions among us, and those whose ancestors have been 
more recently introduced. If this advancement were 
more rapid, it might presently come to a stand, like the 
precocious prosperity of nations that get rich too fast. 
What follows is a form of wretchedness from which 
there is no escape — the wretchedness of those who 
continually and hopelessly cry, "who will show us any 



307 

good ?" I rejoice to think that many generations may 
yet pass away before the African slave or his master 
will reach this pinnacle of splendid misery. In the 
mean time it may be hoped that both will continue 
happy in that condition most favourable to virtuous 
contentment, a state of steadily progressive advance- 
ment in the comforts of civilization, and in the moral 
and intellectual improvement that civilization imparts. 

Were it my purpose merely to vindicate the institu- 
tion of domestic slavery, by showing that the relation 
actually subsisting between master and slave is favour- 
able to the growth of religion in the hearts of both, I 
might rest this matter here. But this would be an im- 
perfect view of its beneficial results. , To say that any 
thing makes men religious is to say that it makes them 
better. But not only has slavery proved a nurse to 
virtue through the agency of religion: It comes in aid 
of religion to carry on the work of reformation in the 
heart and life of the slave. 

The improvement in the condition of the negro has 
a direct tendency to counteract some of the vices that 
formerly characterized him, both in his native country 
and in the early years of his sojourn among us. The 
white man found him a naked savage, prone to the un- 
restrained indulgence of sensual appetite. His dis- 
regard to cleanliness, and his indifference to decorum, 
were not at once removed. The rudest garment that 
could shelter him from the inclemency of the seasons 
at first satisfied his desires, and this, on the approach 
of summer, was impatiently thrown off. It is in the 
memory of many persons, that they considered clothes 
as an inconvenient incumbrance, and that they were 
often almost at the a°;e of puberty, seen in a state of 
perfect nakedness. By degress a sense of shame was 
awakened. A taste in dress has been encouraged by 
the better clothing provided, as the feelings of the mas- 
ter became more kind and sympathizing. A feeling of 
self-respect has been inspired, and this has brought with 
it pride of character, modesty, chastity, and, not un- 
frequentTy, refined delicacy of sentiment. The pro- 
portion of females of irreproachable virtue is perhaps 



308 

not greater in the lower class in any form of society; 
while those who put away shame and give themselves 
up to licentious practices are as effectually put out of 
better society among them as among us. Many are 
still betrayed into youthful indiscretion, but the con- 
nubial tie is now commonly held sacred. There is an 
increasing disposition to consecrate it by the solemni- 
ties, and to strengthen it by the obligations of religion. 
The episcopal minister of the village in which I live, 
celebrates the rites of matrimony between as many 
blacks as whites; the white members- of the family, 
with their most intimate friends, sometimes witness the 
ceremony, and the parties, with their numerous guests, 
close an evening of festive hilarity with an entertain- 
ment of which the most fastidious epicure might be 
glad to partake. 

Can the moral effect of these things be questionable? 
Even admitting, that, in the essential quality of female 
purity, the slave may come short of the class which 
fills the same place in society where slavery is not 
known; yet it is not with that class, but with the negro, 
in his primitive state of wild freedom, that the com- 
parison is to be made. The improvement in this re- 
spect is moreover progressive. At intervals of ten or 
a dozen years a change may be distinctly seen to have 
taken place, and but little farther progress is wanting 
to place this once degraded and brutish race on a level 
in this respect with the lower classes of society in the 
most moral country under the sun. 

In another particular a change of equal importance 
is taking place. Affection, on the one hand, disposes 
to confidence, and on the other invites it, and confi- 
dence provokes to honesty. The savage is universally 
regardless of the rights of meum and tuum. The 
slave was, at first, universally a thief. At this day 
there abound among them examples of integrity abso- 
lutely incorruptible. A slave notoriously dishonest is 
held by them in abhorrence and contempt. The little 
liberties which children will take, under the strong 
temptation to indulge their appetites with delicacies, 
are severely punished by their own parents. False- 



309 

hood is perseveringly rebuked and chastised by them, 
and, in almost every family, there are servants who are 
unhesitatingly trusted with every thing the house con- 
tains. Nor is this confidence confined to the master. 
A verbal message, sent by a trusty slave, is all suffi- 
cient to obtain goods, or even money, from those with 
whom the master deals. This seemingly dangerous 
confidence is never abused. In their own transactions, 
too, a character for integrity is established, which en- 
sures, in all their little dealings, a perfect reliance on 
their word. In the village in which I reside there may 
be 1,500 inhabitants. Of this number perhaps one- 
third are slaves. Of these I am assured, by a retailer 
of proverbial caution, that not less than fifty (equal to 
half the whole number of adult males) can command 
any credit with him, which their own prudence will 
permit them to ask. Yet for such debts he has no se- 
curity, no remedy. They are beyond the reach of law, 
and an appeal to the master might involve him in the 
penalties denounced by some antiquated statutes against 
such as deal with slaves. 

These statutes and others of a congenial character 
afford a strong proof of the moral improvement of the 
slave population. They were, doubtless, called for by 
the state of things existing at the time of their enact- 
ment. At this day they are so utterly superfluous that 
no man is so strict as to enforce them, and none so 
scrupulous as to govern himself by them. They form 
collectively a code of extreme rigour, and go far to 
justify the abhorrence, so often expressed by good men, 
of an institution producing a state of things that can 
render such severity necessary. But the evil has cured 
itself. Thus it is that the wise use of the rod of pa- 
rental discipline establishes the most affectionate con- 
fidence between the prudent father and the son that 
once trembled at his presence. Thus it is that military 
discipline, once having made obedience sure, makes 
indulgence safe. In almost every case where we see 
men living in relations best for the happiness of all, 
where power is gentle and obedience liberal, where 
passion rests under due subordination to reason, where 



310 

the wisdom of the enlightened, and the virtue of the 
good, and the prudence of the sagaciouS| are wisdom, 
and virtue, and prudence for those who, in themselves, 
possess none of these qualities, and the blind walk 
safely and confidently by the guidance of those who 
can see, the heart may shudder, if, turning away from 
the contemplation of these desirable results we look too 
closely to the means by which they were brought about. 
The laws I speak of are but memorials of what has 
been; like the trial by battle in the English law, long 
retaining its place in the same code that denounced the 
duellist as a murderer. They are but the scars of 
stripes formerly inflicted. They forbid the slave to be 
taught to read. Yet all whose minds thirst after know- 
ledge (and if there be danger, these are the dangerous) 
have abundant opportunity. The child is encouraged 
to impart the first rudiments to his nurse, and her ac- 
cess to books and newspapers is unrestrained. She 
has all the stimulus to the cultivation of her mind, and 
all the aid that intelligent conversation supplies; and 
nothing more strikingly shows the unintellectual cha- 
racter of the race, than the general indifference to these 
advantages. Each one who makes use of them may 
instruct the rest, and the leisure of all is much more 
than the labouring class enjoys in other parts of the 
world. 

The penal code abounds too with laws denouncing 
capital punishment against slaves; and the trial by jury 
is denied them. The effect of these things was pro- 
bably as harsh, at one time, as the laws themselves now 
seem. In Virginia the slave is not committed to a jury 
sworn to try whether he be guilty or no, but to a sort 
of discretionary power exercised by a bench of justices 
bound by no specific oath. The question with them 
often seems to be whether he shall be punished or no. 
This is appalling. But let humanity take heart. At 
this day this discretion is exercised altogether in favour 
of the slave. For offences not affecting life or limb 
he is commonly left to the jurisdiction of his master, 
whose punishments, falling far short of those denounced 
by law, fully satisfy the public. The idea of trying a 



311 

slave for larceny, after he has been flogged by his mas- 
ter, is as abhorrent to our notions as the putting a free 
man twice in jeopardy for the same offence. Moreover 
the dissent of one of five justices is enough to acquit. 
To secure the unanimity necessary to conviction, in a 
capital case, the guilt of the accused must not only be 
proved incontestibly, but there must be nothing to jus- 
tify, nothing to excuse, nothing to extenuate, nothing 
even to awaken compassion. The court screens the 
accused alike from the caprice of juries, and the seve- 
rity of the law. The importance of this protection can 
only be appreciated by those who are aware of the total 
want of sympathy between the negro and the white man 
who owns no slave. He is glad to escape from a jury 
composed of such to those whose daily intercourse with 
their own slaves has taught them to know and love the 
peculiar virtues of the African. Nor has interest any 
thing to do in this matter. The owner of a slave who 
is executed receives his price from the treasury. But 
such demands on it are almost unknown, for punish- 
ment is hardly ever inflicted or deserved. 

The regulations I speak of are peculiar to Virginia. 
But the manner of their administration there is given 
in proof of the change wrought by time in the relation 
between master and slave. This change is progressive, 
and an accurate observer may see that, from time to 
time, the great body of slaves have become more at- 
tached, more content with their condition, less licen- 
tious and more honest; and that, meanwhile, their com- 
forts have been increased, and that the master has be- 
come more kind, more indulgent, milder in his methods 
of government and more confiding. The voice of com- 
mand is giving place to that of courteous request; the 
language of objurgation is exchanged for that of grave 
reproof, and it becomes daily more manifest, that, 
whatever griefs may fall to the lot of either party, both 
are happy in each other, and happy in a relation, with 
the duties of which use has made both familiar. 

In much that I have said here, I am aware that I have 
spoken as a witness. In that character I speak reluc- 
tantly. But I am emboldened to do so by the assurance 



312 

that the candid will be ready to believe my testimony 
because of its conformity with reasoning founded on 
the nature of things. I am supported also by the con- 
viction that the knowledge and feeling of the truth of 
what I have said are in the hearts and minds of many 
in this presence. But were there none such here, who 
could believe me so absurdly rash as to venture on 
statements, which, if false, are known to be false by all 
those whose good opinion is the only fame I can hope 
for. 

I feel assured moreover, that thousands will adopt 
and own a sentiment, which, I doubt not, many present 
may hear with surprise. I am aware that the interest 
of the southern master in his slave is commonly con- 
sidered as a thing to be estimated in dollars and "cents. 
It seems to be a prevailing belief, that we would be 
glad to give up our slaves if we could receive some- 
thing in exchange not very far short of their value 
as commonly estimated. This may be true of many. 
Some may be satisfied, by calculations easily made, that 
they might turn the price to better account, by giving 
it in wages to hirelings. I have little doubt that this is 
true, and yet I am sure that multitudes, even of those 
most fully convinced by such reasonings, would make 
the exchange with great reluctance. I speak but for a 
smaller number, but there are certainly some for whom 
I may speak, when I say that they would not willingly 
make it on any terms whatever. With such it is an 
affair of the heart. It presents not a question of profit 
and loss, but of the sundering of a tie in which the best 
and purest affections are deeply implicated. It imports 
the surrender of friendships the most devoted, the most 
enduring, the most valuable. I have spoken of this 
already, but 1 must be pardoned for alluding to it again. 
I must be allowed to offer a word on behalf of the mother 
around whose bed there clusters a crowd of little ones 
from whom death is about to tear her. Who, when she 
is gone, will be a mother to the prattling urchin, uncon- 
scious of the loss he is about to sustain, and whose 
childish sports are even now as full of glee as if death 
were not in the world? Who but she, who already 



313 

shares with her the maternal appellation, and performs, 
with a loving heart, more than half the duties of a 
mother? She has daughters growing up. A roof may 
be found to shelter, them ; one whom the world calls a 
friend may usher them into society; instruction may 
be purchased for them, and the soundest maxims of 
morals, religion and decorum may be inculcated. But 
who is to be with them when they lie down, and when 
they rise up? Who is to watch and accompany their 
outgoings and their incomings? Who is to be with 
them in the dangerous hours of privacy, restraining, 
regulating, purifying their conversation and their 
thoughts ? These are the proper duties of a mother, the 
importance of which renders her loss so fatal. Who is 
to perform them ? There she stands. It is the same 
that supports the languid head of the dying mother, and 
holds the cup to her parched lips. The same, whose 
untiring vigilance, day after day and night after night, 
has watched by that bed of death, with a fidelity to 
which friendship between equals affords no parallel, 
and which the wealth of the Indies could not purchase. 

But, if the devotion of the slave is so absolute, it 
may be asked where can be the harm of severing the 
superfluous bond which deprives his services of the 
praise due to them, by giving a semblance of compul- 
sion to what is voluntary. The question is specious 
enough; but the answer is partly found in what I have 
already said. To answer it more fully, it is necessary 
to advert to a gross and fatal error in morals and poli- 
tics, which has indeed but few advocates, but which, to 
a certain extent, influences the sentiments and conduct 
of many whose reason distinctly rejects it. 

It is an error that took its rise in the alliance between 
genius and licentiousness, formed in the cloisters of the 
monastery a few centuries ago. In that dark time, 
when learning and power were monopolized by the 
priesthood, ambition lured men into the church, and 
the church condemned them to celibacy. But love is 
of all ages and conditions of society, and none more 
keenly feels its power than the sensitive child of genius. 
Restrained by the laws of his order vet more than by 
27 



314 

the laws of God, he could only evade the former by 
openly defying the latter. The plausible sophisms by 
which he sought to cheat the object of his licentious 
passion into preference of the joys of lawless love to 
that sacred union which upholds the order of society, 
and which God has declared to be honourable in his 
sight, were drawn from the idea that love must perish 
as soon as the restraints of law are applied to it. The 
echo of these sentiments has not yet died away. They 
are embodied in Pope's mellifluous lines. 

"Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, 

Spreads his light wings and in a moment flies. 

Should at my feet the world's great master fall, 

Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all. 

Not Caesar's empress would 1 deign to prove : 

No ! make me mistress to the man I love ! 

If there be yet another name more free 

More fond than mistress, make me that to thee ! 

Oh, happy state ! when souls each other draw, 

When love is liberty, and nature law ; 

All then is full, possessing and possessed, 

No craving void left aching in the breast ; 

Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 

And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart." 

Now this is very harmonious and very eloquent. But 
is it true ? It may be so, if that we dignify with the 
name of love is nothing but a purely selfish preference 
of one person over another. The proverbial charm of 
variety will certainly have its effect here, and if it is 
this sensual appetite or dreamy phantasy that is to be 
cultivated and indulged, then is there good reason in 
these ideas. But God has made the well being of so- 
ciety depend on a union that forbids the indulgence of 
this vagrant taste, and checks the caprices of fancy. 
How have men been brought to submit universally to 
such restraints? Is it not that the wise Creator has 
implanted in the heart a counterpollent principle ? Is 
it not that the very restraint of which we are at first 
impatient, engenders, in every well constituted mind, 
a corrective of the evil ? The most profound thinkers 
have long since decided, that the indissoluble nature of 
the connubial tie teaches the parties to put a curb on 



315 

the heart and imagination which restrains their wan- 
derings; and men and women are found to pass long 
lives in harmony and mutual love, who, in the earlier 
stages of their connection, might have parted forever, 
if separation had been possible.* To render this union 
thus efficacious, it is wisely accompanied with such a 
community of interests, that neither party can engage 
in the separate and selfish pursuit of any permanent 
good. It is sometimes seen not fully to produce the 
desired result, when parties come together, each bring- 
ing children of a former marriage. These are the ob- 
jects of peculiar affections and distinct interests, which 
often interrupt harmony, and prevent that perfect amal- 
gamation, which the law contemplates and desires to 
effect. What would be the consequence, if, beside this 
cause of dissension, the husband and wife should have 
no children common to both, and each had a separate 
and independent faculty of acquiring property for their 
respective offspring, cannot easily be estimated. That 
the affection of the parties would be exposed to the 
rudest trials is quite certain. It would probably soon 
terminate in open rupture, not from a preference on the 
part of either for some new face, but from absolute dis- 
gust and well deserved hatred. 

Now something like this would attend the emanci- 
pation of that female slave. She is sure of those ne- 
cessaries and comforts with which education and use 
have made her content, she has no faculty of acquiring 
property, she has no means of providing for her chil- 
dren, but she knows that they are well provided for 

* "That which alone elevates man is permanence in the moral 
state. The character of all great things in the world of matter 
is durability; and, in the moral, as in the physical world, it is 
that which man finds it hardest to attain. God alone changes 
not. But all that tends to fix the desires, to shut in the will and 
the affections, tends to establish paradise on earth." Such is the 
language of one of those enthusiasts, who yet can see nothing in 
the relation of master and slave, but tyranny, wretchedness and 
vice. The theory is certainly right, but, in the application of 
her principles to domestic slavery, she errs because she m: .takes 
the facts. The writer is that extraordinary woman who chooses 
to be known by the name of George Sand. 



316 

* 

already. She is thus in condition to give herself up to 
the duties of her station, and a care of the children that 
have hung at her breast with her own, and on whose 
welfare she feels that that of herself and her offspring 
depends. Emancipate her; emancipate them: strip 
them of the protecting disabilities with which the law 
surrounds them, and she will see at once the necessity 
and the duty of living for them alone. She must do 
so, for the mistaken philanthropy which has turned her 
and her offspring naked and defenceless on the cold 
charities of the world at large, demands that every 
effort, every care, every thought be devoted to the 
almost hopeless task of saving them from want. In 
rare instances, uncommon qualities and exemplary 
virtue on both sides, might preserve friendship between 
her and her master's family. But a conflict of interests 
would have taken the place of a community of inte- 
rests; and friendship, under such circumstances, would 
no longer result naturally from the relation between 
the parties. It would be a forced state of feeling, and 
would be liable to perish in a moment on the failure of 
any one of the innumerable conditions essential to its 
existence. 

It may be added, that, if the value of slaves of this 
class is to be computed by estimating only such ser- 
vices as money can buy, these services are purchased 
at too high a rate. They may be purchased from hire- 
lings for much less than is freely given to favourite 
slaves, by way of indulgence and gratuity. But the 
possession of such a slave, who is not only the servant, 
but the friend of his master, the vigilant guardian of 
his interests, and, in some things, a sagacious and 
faithful adviser, is a luxury of the heart, which they, 
who can afford it, would not part with at any price. 

It is for no sordid interest then that I should plead, 
when, if addressing one having power to abolish this 
relation, I should implore his forbearance. Speaking 
on behalf, not only of myself, but of the slave, by 
whom I know I should not be disavowed, I would 
entreat him to pause and reflect, before sundering a tie 
which can never be reunited, a cord spun from the best 



317 

and purest and most disinterested affections of the 
heart. I would conjure him, by the very considera- 
tions so often invoked against us, not to break up that 
beautiful system of domestic harmony, which, more 
than any thing else, foreshadows the blissful state in 
which love is to be the only law, and love the only 
sanction, and love the supreme bliss of all. 

They to whom these ideas are new may think they 
savour of paradox and extravagance. I am not aware 
that they have ever been publicly proclaimed by any one. 
But I beg you to believe that I would not venture to 
utter them here, did I not know that they float more or 
less distinctly in the minds of all who can be supposed 
capable of appreciating and comprehending them. They 
may not be expressed in words, but they find a mute 
language in the cheerful humility, the liberal obe- 
dience, the devoted loyalty of the slave, and in the 
gentleness, the kindness, the courtesy of the master. 
These are the appropriate manifestations of those af- 
fections which it is the office of religion to cultivate in 
man, and I appeal to them as evidences of the ame- 
liorating influence of this much misunderstood relation 
on the hearts and minds of both parties. That such 
results are universal, I will not pretend to say; but 
that the cause which has produced them will go on to 
produce them more extensively, I conscientiously be- 
lieve. "If the thing be not of God, it will surely come 
to nought;" but so fully am I convinced that it has his 
sanction and approbation, that I expect it to cease only 
when, along with other influences divinely directed, it 
shall have accomplished its part of the great work of 
enlightening, evangelizing and regenerating the human 
race. 



To the Editor of the S. L. Messenger: 

I have omitted to mention a fact that may give this 
essay an interest in the eyes of some readers. When 
I found that it would not be proper to read it before 

27* 



318 & 

the institute, I should have desisted from the under- 
taking, but for the request of my lamented friend, the 
late secretary of state. We had frequently conversed 
on the subject and his views fully coincided with my 
own. This fact alone should have great weight with 
those who remember the surpassing benevolence that 
distinguished that wise and good man. He believed 
that the view that I have presented ought to influence the 
minds of the truly benevolent and pious; and we both 
hoped that it might induce many such to hesitate — to 
pause — to inquire before taking any further steps in a 
crusade against an institution so much misunderstood. 

We both, moreover, thought it desirable to call the 
attention of our own countrymen to the value of this 
element in our social system, as a means of facilitating 
the tasks of government, and perpetuating our existing 
political constitutions. 

This is the purpose of this second part. 

B. T. 



LECTURE XVII. 

If your minds have not rejected, as wholly fallacious, 
all that I have already said, I flatter myself that what 
I have to offer on behalf of the political effect of 
slavery, as it exists among us, will be favourably re- 
ceived. I do not propose to speak of it as an element 
of wealth. That branch of the subject I leave to the 
political economists, by whom it is generally con- 
demned. Be it so. I am content to acquiesce in their 
judgment. But there is something better than wealth. 
It is happiness, of which* wealth is but an instrument. 

* When this was written I had not seen Carlyle's Past and 
Present, though I had met with an extract of which I have made 
use. I have since seen it, and quote the following to explain and 
enforce my meaning: 

"The condition of England, on which many pamphlets are 
now in the course of publication, and many thoughts unpub- 



319 

There are some things, too, more conducive to happi- 
ness than wealth: these are order, harmony, tranquillity, 
and security. The influence of this institution on 
these — its place and its value in the mechanism of po- 
litical society are what I propose now to consider. 

lished are going on in every reflective head, is justly regarded 
as one of the most ominous, and withal one of the strangest, 
ever seen in this world. England is full of wealth, of multifa- 
rious produce, supply for human want in every kind; yet England 
is dying of inanition. With unabated bounty the land of Eng- 
land blooms and grows; waving with yellow harvests; thick- 
studded with work-shops, industrial implements, with fifteen 
millions of workers, understood to be the strongest, the cun- 
ningest and the willingest our earth ever had; these men are 
here; the work they have done, the fruit they have realised is 
here, abundant, exuberant on every hand of us: and behold, 
some baleful fiat as of enchantment has gone forth, saying, 
'Touch it not, ye workers, ye master- workers, ye master-idlers; 
none of you can touch it, no man of you shall be the better for 
it; this is enchanted fruit!' On the poor workers such fiat falls 
first, in its rudest shape; but on the rich master-workers too it 
falls; neither can the rich master-idlers, nor any richest or 
highest man escape, but all are alike to be brought low with it, 
and made 'poor' enough, in the money-sense or a far fataller one. 
"Of these successful skilful workers some two millions, it is 
now counted, sit in workhouses, poor-law prisons; or have 
'out-door relief flung over the wall to them — the workhouse 
bastile being filled to bursting, and the strong poor-law broken 
asunder by a stronger.* They sit there, these many months 
now; their hope of deliverance as yet small. In workhouses, 
pleasantly so named, because work cannot be done in them. 
Twelve hundred thousand workers in England alone; their cun- 
ning right-hand lamed, lying idle in their sorrowful bosom; their 
hopes, outlooks, share of this fair world, shut in by narrow 
w r alls. They sit there, pent up, as in a kind of horrid enchant- 
ment; glad to be imprisoned and enchanted, that they may not 
perish starved. The picturesque tourist, in a sunny autumn day, 
through this bounteous realm of England, descries the Union 
Workhouse on his path. 'Passing by the workhouse of St. Ives 
in Huntingdonshire, on a bright day last autumn,' says the pic- 
turesque tourist, 'I saw sitting on wooden benches, in front of 
their bastile and within their ring-wall and its railings, some 
half-hundred or more of these men. Tall robust figures, young 
mostly or of middle age; of honest countenance, many of them 
thoughtful and even intelligent-looking men. They sat there, 
near by one another; but in a kind of torpor, especially in a 

*The Return of Paupers for England and Wales, at Ladyday, 1842, is, 
'In-door 221,687, Out-door 1,207,402, Total 1,429,089.' (Official Report.) 



320 

When God first cursed the earth for the sin of man, 
he commanded it no more to bring forth spontaneously 
the grains and fruits necessary for his subsistence, but 
doomed him to earn and eat his bread in the sweat of 

silence, which was very striking. In silence: for, alas, what 
word was to be said? An earth all lying round, crying, Come 
and till me, come and reap me; — yet we here sit enchanted! In 
the eyes and brows of these men hung the gloomiest expression, 
not of anger, but of grief and shame and manifold inarticulate 
distress and weariness; they returned my glance with a glance 
that seemed to say, 'Do not look at us. We sit enchanted here, 
we know not why. The sun shines and the earth calls; and, by 
the governing powers and impotences of this England, we are 
forbidden to obey. It is impossible, they tell us!' There was 
something that reminded me of Dante's hell in the look of all 
this; and I rode swiftly away.' 

"So many hundred thousands sit in workhouses: and other 
hundred thousands have not yet got even workhouses; and in 
thrifty Scotland itself, in Glasgow or Edinburgh city, in their 
dark lanes, hidden from all but the eye of God, and of rare bene- 
volence the minister of God, there are scenes of woe and desti- 
tution and desolation, such as, one may hope, the sun never saw 
before in the most barbarous regions where men dwelt. Compe- 
tent witnesses, the brave and humane Dr. Alison, who speaks 
what he knows, whose noble healing art in his charitable hands 
becomes once more a truly sacred one, report these things for us: 
these things are not of this year, or of Jast year, have no refe- 
rence to our present state of commercial stagnation, but only to 
the common state. Not in sharp fever-fits, but in chronic gan- 
grene of this kind is Scotland suffering. A poor-law, any and 
every poor-law, it may be observed, is but a temporary measure; 
an anodyne, not a remedy: rich and poor, when once the naked 
facts of their condition have come into collision, cannot long 
subsist together on a mere poor-law. True enough: — and yet, 
human beings cannot be left to die! Scotland too, till something 
better come, must have a poor-law, if Scotland is not to be a by- 
word among the nations. O, what a waste is there; of noble 
and thrice-noble national virtues, peasant, stoicisms, heroisms; 
valiant manful habits, soul of a nation's worth— which all the 
metal of Potosi cannot purchase back; to which the metal of Po- 
tosi, and all you can buy with it, is dross and dust! 

"Why dwell on this aspect of the matter'? It is too indispu- 
table, not doubtful now to any one. Descend where you will into 
the lower class, in town or country, by what avenue you will, by- 
factory inquiries, agricultural inquiries, by revenue returns, by 
mining-labourer committees, by opening your own eyes and 
looking, the same sorrowful result discloses itself: you have to 
admit that the working body of this rich English nation has sunk 
or is fast sinking- into a state, to which, all sides of it considered, 



321 

his face. To understand from this that no man from 
thenceforth should ever eat the bread of idleness, 
would be, "to make God a liar." But the fulfilment 
of the denunciation against the race of Adam collec- 

there was literally never any parallel. At Stockport assizes — 
and this too has no reference to the present state of trade, being 
of date prior to that — a mother and a father are arraigned and 
found guilty of poisoning three of their children, to defraud a 
'burial society' of some 3Z. 85. due on the death of each child: they 
are arraigned, found guilty; and the official authorities, it is 
whispered, hint that perhaps the case is not solitary, that perhaps 
you had better not probe farther into that department of things. 
This is in the autumn of 1841; the crime itself is of the previous 
year or season. 'Brutal savages, degraded Irish,' mutters the 
idle reader of newspapers; hardly lingering on this incident. 
Yet it is an incident worth lingering on; the depravity, savagery 
and degraded Irishism being never so well admitted. In the 
British land, a human mother and father, of white skin, and 
professing the christian religion, had done this thing; they, with 
their Irishism and necessity and savagery, had been driven to do 
it. Such instances are like the highest mountain apex emerged 
into view; under which lies a whole mountain region and land, 
not yet emerged. A human mother and father had said to them- 
selves, What shall we do to escape starvation'? We are deep 
sunk here, in our dark cellar; and help is far. Yes, in the Ugo- 
lino hunger-tower stern things happen; best-loved little Gaddo 
fallen dead on his father's knees! The Stockport mother and 
father think and hint: Our poor little starveling Tom, who cries 
all day for victuals, who will see only evil and not good in this 
world: if he were out of misery at once; he well dead, and the 
rest of us perhaps kept alive'? It is thought, and hinted; at last 
it is done. And now Tom being killed, and all spent and eaten, 
Is it poor little starveling Jack that must go, or poor little starve- 
ling Will? What an inquiry of ways and means! 

"In starved sieged cities, in the uttermost doomed ruin of old 
Jerusalem fallen under the wrath of God, it was prophesied and 
said, 'The hands of the pitiful women have sodden their own 
children.' The stern Hebrew imagination could conceive no 
blacker gulf of wretchedness; that was the ultimatum of de- 
graded god-punished man. And we here, in modern England, 
exuberant with supply of all kinds, besieged by nothing if it be not 
by invisible enchantments, are we reaching thaf? — How come 
these things'? Wherefore are they, wherefore should they be'? 

"Nor are they of the St. Ives workhouses, of the Glasgow 
lanes, and Stockport cellars, the only unblessed among us. This 
successful industry of England, with its plethoric wealth, has as 
yet made nobody rich; it is an enchanted wealth, and belongs 
yet to nobody. We might ask, Which of us has it enriched'? 
We can spend thousands where we once spent hundreds; but can 



322 

lively is found in this; that, though some are permitted 
to pass their lives in uneasy and unprofitable sloth, the 
great mass of mankind must spend their days in toil, 
or starve. 

"Wisdom cometh by the opportunity of leisure," 

purchase nothing good with them. In poor and rich, instead, of 
noble thrift and plenty, there is idle luxury alternating with 
mean scarcity and inability. We have sumptuous garnitures for 
our life, but have forgotten to live in the middle of them. It is 
an enchanted wealth; no man of us can yet touch it. The class 
of" men who feel that they are truly better off by means of it, let 
them give us their name! 

"Many men eat finer cookery, drink dearer liquors — with what 
advantage they can report, and their doctors can: but in the heart 
of them, if we go out of the dyspeptic stomach, what increase of 
blessedness is there? Are they better, beautifuller, stronger, 
braver 1 Are they even what they call 'happier 1' Do they look 
with satisfaction on more things and human faces in this God's- 
earth; do more things and human faces look with satisfaction on 
them? Not so. Human faces gloom discordantly, disloyally on 
one another. Things, if it be not mere cotton and iron things, 
are growing disobedient to man. The master worker is en- 
chanted, for the present, like his workhouse workman; clamours, 
in vain hitherto, for a very simple sort of 'liberty:' the liberty 
'to buy where he finds it cheapest, to sell where he finds it dear- 
est.' With guineas jingling in every pocket, he was no whit 
richer; but now, the very guineas threatening to vanish, he feels 
that he is poor indeed. Poor master worker! And the master 
unworker, is he not in a still fataller situation 1 Pausing amid 
his game-preserves, with awful eye — as he well may! Coercing 
fifty-pound tenants; coercing, bribing, cajoling; doing what he 
likes with his own. His mouth full of loud futilities, and argu- 
ments to prove the excellence of his corn-law; and in his heart 
the blackest misgiving, a desperate half-consciousness that his 
excellent corn-law is indefensible, that his loud arguments for it 
are of a kind to strike men too literally dumb. 

"To whom, then, is this wealth of England wealth 1 Who is it 
that it blesses; makes happier, wiser, beautifuller, in any way bet- 
ter ? Who has got hold of it, to make it fetch and carry for him, 
like a true servant, not like a false mock-servant; to do him any 
real service whatsoever? As yet no one. We have more riches 
than any nation ever had before; we have less good of them than 
any nation ever had before. Our successful industry is hitherto 
unsuccessful; a strange success, if we stop here ! In the midst 
of plethoric plenty, the people perish; with gold wails and full 
barns, no man feels himself safe or satisfied. Workers, master 
workers, unworkers, all men come to a pause; stand fixed, and 
cannot farther. Fatal paralysis spreading inwards, from the ex- 
tremities, in St. Ives workhouses, in Stockport cellars, through 



323 

and to him "whose life is between the handles of the 
plough/' this opportunity is denied. Hence the curse 
that dooms the mass of mankind to toil, dooms them 
also to ignorance. When the former penalty is recalled 
the latter may be remitted. Not till then. 

You will not think me so absurd as to mean that there 
is no intellectual excellence, no wisdom, except among 
those who enjoy the advantages of regular education. 
We know this not to be true; and our own community 
abounds with examples to the contrary. But that 
native energy of mind, which, in its upward spring, 
throws off' the depressing weight of poverty, is a rare 
endowment. He who possesses it presently separates 
himself from the class in which he had been placed, by 
a blunder of fortune; and one of the first uses that he 
makes of his superior powers is to secure to himself the 
advantages of education, which others, misunder- 
standing the secret of his success, foolishly undervalue. 
He, whose mind God has enlightened with that wis- 
dom, which is the heritage of such favoured beings, 
chooses wisdom as his portion. The fool alone chooses 
folly, and remains content in ignorance. The propo- 
sition still remains true, that he whose lot is a lot of 
abject toil, whether he were born to it, or has sunk 
down to it, by his own proper weight, is necessarily 
destitute of that enlightened wisdom, which might 
qualify him to take his place in councils whose delibe- 
rations concern the happiness of millions. 

The fact that instances of men rising to distinction 
from a low condition are more frequent in the United 
States than elsewhere, is but a confirmation of what I 
have said. The wages of labour here are such as to 
afford the labourer much leisure for mental cultivation, 

all limb?, as if towards the heart itself. Have we actually got 
enchanted, then; accursed by some god 1 — 

"Midas longed for gold, and insulted the Olympians. He got 
gold, so that whatsoever he touched became gold — and he, with 
his long ears, was little the better for it. Midas had misjudged 
the celestial music-tones; Midas had insulted Apollo and the 
gods: the gods gave him his wish, and a pair of long ears, which 
also were a good appendage to it. What a truth in these old 
Fables!" 



324 

if he prefers that to idleness or dissipation. None of 
the walks of life are fully occupied, and for every 
youth, however humble, who makes any display of in- 
tellectual power, there is always a place to be found, in 
which he can cultivate his mind, and earn his bread at 
the same time. Such have been the facilities by which 
all such, among ourselves, have attained the vantage 
ground from which they afterwards mounted to emi- 
nence. 

When men act together in large bodies, he who 
would lead must sometimes be content to follow. That 
he may make his wisdom the wisdom of other men, he 
must adopt something of their folly, just as he who 
would stop a falling weight, must yield to the shock. 
To a certain extent this is perhaps desirable. Wise 
men, taking counsel only of each other, might forget to 
make allowance for others not so wise as themselves. 
The presence of a few fools may be necessary to re- 
mind them, that they are acting for fools, as well as for 
wise men. Thus it is, that in a multitude of coun- 
sellors there is wisdom; and if fools could learn as 
readily from wise men, as wise men learn from fools, 
the multitude could not be too indiscriminate. 

But, unfortunately, it is not so; and no man who has 
had occasion to witness what is done, in numerous de- 
liberative bodies, can fail to have observed that much 
good is marred, and much mischief is done, from the 
necessity of conceding too much to the prejudices of the 
ignorant. Whatever good, wise and practical men may 
be able to extract from their commerce with fools, it is 
only under the management of the wise that good can 
be made of it. But take the mass of mankind, in any 
country upon earth, and refer, direct/y and without de- 
bate, to the vote of a majority of these, all questions of 
municipal regulation and foreign policy, assigning, in 
every instance, as much weight to the suffrage of one 
as to that of another, and no man can calculate the dis- 
astrous consequences that might ensue. 

Something like this is done in every country, which 
refers the choice of its lawgivers and magistrates to 
universal suffrage. The effect is always mischievous. 



325 

Under peculiar, and very advantageous circumstances, 
it is not necessarily fatal, and hence it is that we are 
enabled to deceive ourselves, while observing the ope- 
ration of universal suffrage, in those states of the 
Union where it prevails. In a country where much 
land is unappropriated, and where a much larger pro- 
portion remains as so much dead capital in the hands 
of the owner, for want of purchasers to buy or labourers 
to cultivate it, the tasks of government are few and 
simple and of easy execution. Its business is alto- 
gether with individuals — to regulate their conduct, to 
punish their crimes, and to adjust their controversies. 
It performs no function not within the competency of 
conservators of the peace, constables, and the ordinary 
courts of justice. It is little more than a loose and 
careless police, and a system of regulated arbitration. 
With men in masses it has nothing to do. The only 
distinctions in society are produced by the tastes and 
caprices of individuals. As these may prompt they 
will arrange themselves into cliques and coteries, but, 
politically speaking, there is but one class and one in- 
terest. The rigljt of personal liberty is alike precious 
to all men, and, where all have property, the right of 
property will be held sacred by all, and the legislation 
which is best for some will be best for all. There will 
be therefore no misgovernment, but such as is produced 
by well-intentioned blunders. Even against these there 
is an important security in that state of society. There 
is no just ground of jealousy between the rich and poor, 
the enlightened and ignorant. Demagogues indeed, 
striving to imitate what is done elsewhere, and to rise 
to power by means for which society is not prepared, 
may seek to inspire this jealousy, but they will find it 
difficult to do so, until misgovernment affords occasions 
to deceive and corrupt the people. Until then, the 
natural instinct of man disposes to mutual confidence, 
and the blind submit to be led by those who can see, 
and have no inducement to lead them astray. 

It is not until the progress of society has distributed 
mankind into different classes, having distinct and con- 
flicting interests, that the political action of government 
28 



326 

commences, and the wisdom of its political structure is 
put to any test.* To adjust these interests, and to ac- 
commodate the strifes which arise from them, is the 
great problem for the statesman. All experience has 
shown that the more powerful class will sacrifice the 
interests of the weaker, whenever its own can be ad- 
vanced by doing so. It makes no difference what is 
the source or character of the power thus wielded. 
Such is the use that always has been, and always will 
be made of it.t 

The temptations to this abuse of power are not 
always equally strong. They may be counteracted by 
conscientious scruples, in some cases, in some by the 
fear of consequences^ and in others-, power may be 
baffled by the superior intelligence and address of the 
weaker party, or defeated by the treachery of its own 
agents. All these diversities maybe illustrated by the 
conflict of interests between the rich and poor in any 
community. 

1. Temptation. If we suppose the moral qualities 
of prudence and justice to be distributed alike through- 
out the whole, we certainly make a supposition at least 
as favourable to the poorer class as the history of human 
nature will justify. Now, under a constitution which 
should lodge the powers of government in the hands of 
the smaller class of wealthy men, there is certainly 

* "Clearly a difficult point for government," says Carlyle, 
" that of dealing with these masses, if indeed it be not the sole 
point and problem of government, and all others mere accidental 
crotchets, superficialties, and beating of the wind." — French 
Revolution, vol. 1, p. 44. Again he says, "some happy conti- 
nents, as the western one, with its savannahs, where whosoever 
has four willing limbs finds food under his feel, and an infinite 
sky over his head, can do without governing. — Id. p. 268. 

t It is not meant that political power will be always thus 
abused. It may be held in check and in awe by physical power. 
The aristocracy of France, blindly disregarding the danger of 
oppressing the subject mass, defied the naked rabble of sans 
culottism. The aristocracy of Great Britain, made wise by their 
experience, treats chartism in quite another guise, and recognises 
the unrepresented classes as the proper objects of the paternal 
care of government. Benevolence has doubtless much to do with 
this; but the rod is a marvellous improver of all the virtues. 



327 

some temptation to abuse their power over the poor. 
But this is not a temptation that addresses itself strongly 
to the interests of the ruling party. There is, unhappily 
in too many, a pleasure in the indulgence of an arrogant 
and insolent disposition to trample on the helpless; but, 
from the nature of the thing, the plunder of the poor is 
an unproductive fund; and the little that can be gained 
by it would be of small value in the estimation of those 
already rolling in affluence. Reverse the case, and we 
shall see a very different result. The temptation to a 
hungry multitude, armed with political authority, to 
gorge themselves with the superfluities of the rich 
would be such as human nature cannot be expected to 
resist. 

2. Conscience. The injustice of a course of legis- 
lation intended to enrich one class at the expense of 
another, should, in either case., deter the party in power 
from such a course. But how much more striking is 
that injustice, when the portion of the community to 
be plundered is already in a state of penury, and the 
portion to be enriched is already rich, than when the 
reverse of all this is the case? In the first case, no 
sophistry can be devised to palliate such an abuse of 
power. In the latter, a thousand texts may be drawn 
from the Bible itself, capable of being so perverted as 
to afi'urd a plausible justification of it. So true is this, 
that in every country, where public opinion exercises a 
distinct influence on legislation, though the multitude 
be not directly represented, charity (which from its 
nature should be gratuitous) is compulsory, established 
as a system, and enacted by law. 

3. Danger of consequences. The abuse of consti- 
tutional power and prerogative in the hands of a privi- 
leged few is always dangerous to themselves. As a 
general proposition it may be said, that the physical 
power is always on the side of numbers, and the power 
of the few depends for its security on opinion. This 
opinion must not be outraged by oppression, or any 
thing that looks like oppression. So far from it, the 
ruling party must be careful that the sufferings of the 
poorer classes, however caused, be not imputed to 



328 

government. A sop must be thrown, from time to 
time, to the many mouthed and hungry Cerberus', lest 
he devour his rulers. So far from taking from the poor 
for the benefit of the rich, the rich have to tax them- 
selves for the benefit of the poor, and the manner in 
which the benefit is received, shows plainly enough 
what might be the consequence of withholding it. The 
power would be presently wrested from the hands of 
the ruling class, and the use which would then be made 
of it may be read in the history of revolutionary 
France. 

There is no such check on the abuse of constitutional 
authority by the more numerous class. They fear 
nothing from the physical power of the multitude, for 
they are themselves the multitude, and so long as the 
rulers of their choice administer the government with 
an eye to their special benefit, so long all is safe. They 
have nothing to do but to profess to make the greatest 
good of the greatest number the sole object of all their 
legislation, and to proclaim an irreconcilable war of the 
poor against the rich. 

4. Want or intelligence and treachery of 
leaders. In such a state of things what is to save the 
rich from being destroyed and swallowed up? Nothing 
but the last of those checks to the abuse of power which 
I have just enumerated. Though not withheld by a 
sense of justice, or a fear of consequences, power in 
the ignorant multitude may be baffled by the superior 
intelligence and address of the less numerous party, or 
defeated by the treachery of its own agents. These 
agents are rarely content to remain poor after they get 
into power. Whatever may be wrung from the com- 
mon adversary, an equal distribution among their fol- 
lowers is no part of their plan of operations. The 
allotment of plunder is confined to the leaders of the 
party, and to the shrewd and crafty whom it is not easy 
to deceive, and who will be most expert in deceiving 
the rest. All these soon become rich, and though they 
may still profess the same zeal for the poor as formerly, 
and, for a time, retain their place as leaders, they will 
take care to conduct their future operations with an 



329 

especial regard to their own newly acquired interests. 
Hence the short-lived reign of democracy, which never 
survives a single generation, and always terminates in 
the sole power of some demagogue. 

When a community, in the gradual and sure progress 
of society, has divided itself into classes, of which one, 
(and that the lowest,) is more numerous than all the 
rest, then it is that the wisdom of its institutions and 
the strength of its government are tested. If no indul- 
gence is extended to this most numerous class, if its 
few rights are invaded, its murmurs despised, and its 
sufferings insulted, we read the consequences in the 
history of revolutionary France. 

If their rights are duly regarded, their complaints 
heard, their wants provided for, as far as this can be 
done by legislative authority, and a portion of political 
power is conceded to them, to appease their discon- 
tents, we may see something of the effects of this hu- 
mane and wise policy in what is now passing in England. 
It is certainly the best that can be done. The part 
taken by Sir Robert Peel in these measures, consider- 
ing the relation in which he stands to the labouring 
class, entitles him to their gratitude, and the applause 
of the world. But what is to be the result of such 
measures cannot be foreseen. Happy for him if the 
hungry monster does not tear the hand extended to its 
relief. 

If, instead of adopting palliatives and half measures, 
a bolder and franker course be taken, if all preroga- 
tives are abolished, and all privileges renounced, and 
popular discontent be indulged by the establishment of 
perfect political equality, it is easy to foresee the con- 
sequences. Between the absolute surrender of all 
power into the hands of the most numerous class, and 
the exercise of power by the whole collectively, on a 
plan which shall assign to that class, which outnumbers 
all the rest, a weight and authority proportioned to its 
numbers, there can be little practical difference. In 
either case it is plain to see that the distinctive interest 
of that most numerous class (an interest peculiar to 
itself, and hostile to every other,) would be alone con- 
28* 



330 

suited. The property of the rich becoming the prey of 
the poor, property would lose half its value from a sense 
of insecurity; the motives to industry v/ould be lost, 
and all those innumerable evils would ensue, for which 
men never find a remedy but under the dominion of a 
despot. 

I beg pardon for dwelling on truths so trite and ob- 
vious. Yet while I feel bound to apologise for this, I 
fear I shall hardly be pardoned for deducing the con- 
clusion which follows inevitably. It may not be safe 
to do more than to suggest a doubt whether a govern- 
ment, founded on the basis of equal political rights and 
functions, in every member of the community, from the 
highest to the lowest, can preserve itself from destruc- 
tion, when applied to a people in that most advanced 
state of society in which all property is accumulated in 
the hands of the few, and the starving multitude must 
beg, and sometimes beg in vain, for leave to toil. To 
that condition all society tends with a rapidity fearfully 
hastened by modern discoveries in art and science, and 
to that state free governments, above all others, tend 
most rapidly. 

The great aim of the political economist, is to urge 
the advance to that state of things. He speaks to will- 
ing pupils, and public spirit and individual cupidity are 
everywhere pressing on towards it, with an instinctive 
eagerness which would seem to show that it is, in itself, 
desirable. The desideratum is, to preserve, in that 
condition, the same free institutions, which, under cir- 
cumstances less brilliant, it is found easy to establish 
and administer. The problem indeed is, to devise the 
means, by which any government can be maintained in 
the defence of the rights of all men, in all conditions, 
without establishing an inequality of political fran- 
chises corresponding to the inequalities of property, 
and fortifying that inequality by the sword. In France, 
at this moment, the necessity for this seems to be felt, 
acknowledged, and acted on. In Great Britain it is 
felt, it is acknowledged by some, and denied by others 
— whether it can be successfully acted upon is doubt- 
ful — what will be the consequence if it is, is not for 



331 

man to foresee. There the experiment is going on, 
which is to decide this question. 

The progress of that experiment is not so hopeful as 
to reconcile other nations to thought of advancing to 
the same point, and staking their happiness on the re- 
sult. On the contrary it is the part of wisdom, in a 
society having iviihin itself any element, by the opera- 
tion of which the conditions of the problem may possibly 
be varied or modified, to study diligently the jn op er ties 
of that element, and direct its tendencies, as far as prac- 
ticable to that important object. 

Such an element, as it seems to me, is the slave popu- 
lation of the southern states. It is an old observation 
that the spirit of freedom is nowhere so high and in- 
domitable as among freemen who are the masters of 
slaves. The existence of slavery in a community will 
always keep alive a jealous passion for liberty in the 
lowest class of those who are not slaves. But it is not 
in this point of view that I propose to present the sub- 
ject. It is true that the spirit of freedom is thus kept 
alive, but it is not thus that the suicidal tendency of 
freedom is restrained. 

The diligent researches of the British parliament 
have furnished the world with a body of evidence, 
which clearly depicts the condition to which the poorer 
classes of the most prosperous community are necessa- 
rily reduced, in that advanced state of prosperity of 
which I have just spoken. In this picture we see a 
state of things full of the causes of revolution, total, 
bloody and destructive. It presents to the government 
the critical alternative of extending the franchises of 
the suffering class, in order to appease their discontents, 
or strengthening the arm of power, in order to repress 
them, if the latter measure be adopted, the expenses 
of government and the burthens of the people must be 
increased; the power, which is given for the purpose of 
repressing one class, may be dangerous to the liberties 
of all; and a new energy and increased severity must 
be imparted to the laws, imposing on all a degree of 
restraint otherwise unnecessary. To live under a go- 
vernment of laws, faithfully administered, is indeed to 



332 

be free, but there is little comfort in freedom, where the 
law takes cognisance of all we do, and requires us to 
act by a fixed rule, whether we go out or come in, 
whether we lie down or rise up. A man feels little like 
a freeman, when abruptly accosted in the street by a 
watchman, and rudely questioned, and taken to the 
watch-house if his account of himself happens not to 
be satisfactory to the guardian of the night. 

Now let it be supposed that the whole of that class 
of labourers in England, whose condition is worse than 
that of slaves in our southern states were actually Ne- 
gro slaves, the property of their employers. The ne- 
cessity of controlling them, and the danger of insur- 
rection would remain; but the means of averting that 
danger would be altogether different. Let us examine 
this matter somewhat in detail. 

1. The whole system of police contrived to regulate 
and watch the movements of the labouring class would 
be superfluous. The authority and discipline of the 
master would supply its place. That system, in its un- 
discriminating operation, must often annoy many of 
those, who are not intended to be affected by itj and 
the freedom of numbers is unnecessarily restrained, 
whom the law would leave free if it knew how to dis- 
tinguish them. But where there are negro slaves, no 
such mistakes are made. The white man's colour is 
his certificate of freedom, and every master knows his 
own slaves. 

2. The military force, which is kept up in times of 
profound peace, would be useless, and might be dis- 
banded. At present, it seems indispensable to check 
the spirit of insurrection excited in the poorer class by 
their distresses. The effect of this in increasing the 
power, the patronage, and the influence of the crown, 
and the burthens of the people is incalculable. Some 
resort to force might also be necessary in the case I 
have supposed. But the force, in that case, would be 
that of private men employed by private men. The 
expense would fall exclusively on those who ought to 
bear it. It would be unattended with displays of the 
insolence of office, and the splendour of rank, to the 



333 

annoyance of the whole community. Half a dozen 
armed free labourers would keep the operatives of a 
large establishment in order, and the assemblage of 
multitudes from different establishments would be pre- 
vented altogether. 

3. Whenever an insurrectionary spirit is awakened 
in the de^radino; class of free labourers, of which I am 
now speaking, it is sure of sympathy from the class 
next above it, a class less numerous perhaps, but far 
more formidable. Hence the restraints, and discipline, 
and terrors of the law, are extended to these also. But 
where would be that nerve of sympathy, if that lowest 
class were composed of Negro slaves? And what need 
would there be of imposing any restraints on what 
would then be the lowest and poorest class of freemen, 
which we know to have less sympathy with the negro 
than any other ? 

4. There would be less to provoke to insurrection 
than there now is, for interest would compel the master 
to provide for the mere, animal wants of his slave. At 
present, if a labourer is starved oft', his employer knows 
where to find another. The consequence would indeed 
be a diminution of profits, or rather the fruits of capital 
and labour combined would be more equally divided 
between the capitalist and the labourer. But this is pre- 
cisely what the British parliament has been trying to 
effect by legislation, for the last thirty years. They 
would have the labourer work less and better paid. 
Now, if his employer has an interest in his life, he will 
not work him to death, and will give him necessary 
food, which is more than the hireling often gets for his 
wages. I do not mean to -deny that the authority of 
law might be sometimes necessary to enforce this 
and other duties of humanity. The law now inter- 
feres for the same purpose between the free labourer 
and his employer. But its vigilance is often baffled, 
because the labourer must be employed, and will join 
with the employer to elude the law. If a child under 
nine years of age is not to work more than eight or ten 
hours a day, who shall say that he is not ten years old 
when he and his parents all say so ? B/jt let the slave 



334 

be made sure of the protection of the law, in complain- 
ing of his master (and occasional visits from proper 
officers would afford him this security,) and he will be 
sure to claim all the exemptions and advantages that 
the law allows him. If he is still wronged and mal- 
treated, he may hate his master, but he will love the 
law that sought to protect him. The grievances of each 
particular stock of slaves would be their own, and an 
occasional murder, not a general insurrection would be 
the consequence. Without the blindest negligence, 
any thing like concert would be impossible. 

5. It should be remembered, that the distresses of 
the labourers are greatest, and the danger of insurrec- 
tion is most to be feared, when short crops, or low prices 
for manufactures raise the price of food, or reduce the 
wages of labour. But were the labourers slaves, no 
part of this distress would be felt by them, and no such 
insurrectionary spirit would be awakened. All the loss, 
in such cases, would fall, as it ought to fall, not on the 
labourer but on his employer. Not only would this be 
right, but it is the very result which the law would ac- 
complish if it could. 

Thus far, gentlemen, I think you will see that the 
exchange of the present free labour of Great Britain 
for that of an equal number of negro slaves, would save 
the community from heavy burthens and oppressive 
laws, and the government from the danger which at 
every moment threatens it. But would it not also make 
it safe to extend the political privileges of the people, 
and to grant a share in the government to some who 
are now, most wisely, disfranchised ? The temptation 
of the lower classes to abuse political power would be 
much diminished, and the presence of a class lower 
than all, and more numerous than all, of a different 
race, and requiring equally the concert and co-opera- 
tion of all for its safe control and management, would 
be a prominent point on which all other classes would 
act together in a common spirit and in perfect harmony. 
I do not mean to say that even that would render uni- 
versal suffrage expedient or just; but the mischiefs of 



335 

universal suffrage would be different in character and 
less in degree. 

They would be different in character, for all would 
dread the consequences which might attend insurrec- 
tion, or follow any insurrectionary movement. Any 
evil not intolerable would be endured, in preference to 
the danger of letting loose an enemy so-formidable, as, 
in such a state of things, the slave population might be- 
come. The preservation of order and harmony among 
the free classes would be an object of paramount in- 
terest with all, for it would be necessary to the safety 
of all. 

The danger of universal suffrage would be less in 
degree. The classes absolutely destitute of property 
in England, at this moment, very far outnumber all the 
rest. To let in universal suffrage, therefore, would be 
a signal for confiscation, and a general partition of 
property, such as took place in France fifty years ago. 
But take away the whole of that lowest class, in com- 
parison with whose abject condition that of our slaves 
is a state of freedom and happiness, and, though per- 
haps the holders of property might still be outnumbered, 
it is probable that a little address and management 
might be sufficient to preserve the balance of authority. 

But there is a danger of an opposite character. Even 
if we suppose the newly infranchised multitude to con- 
tinue to respect the rights of property, they can never 
be insensible to its value. If the labourers in the em- 
ployment of a great manufacturer did not succeed in 
stripping him of his property by agrarian legislation, 
they would remain the same dependent beings that they 
now are, and he whose right of suffrage is now limited 
to his own vote, would then carry to the polls his thou- 
sand retainers, and give law to the county or corpora- 
tion to which he belonged. 

This last, gentlemen, is precisely the danger to be 
apprehended from universal suffrage in communities 
like our own. The desperate measures of agrarian 
misrule and confiscation, and plunder by the authority 
of law are not to be apprehended where the wages of 
labour are so high, the means of subsistence so cheap, 



336 

and the facility of acquiring landed property so great 
as among us. The poorest man in society feels an in- 
terest in those laws which protect the rights of pro- 
perty, for, though he has none as yet, he has the pur- 
pose and the hope to be rich before he dies, and to leave 
property to his children. But this purpose and this 
hope do but render him more sensible to the tempta- 
tions of interest. They whet his appetite for gain, and 
the desire of acquisition, instead of being an occasional 
want of his nature, which may be appeased and forgotten, 
becomes a permanent and inveterate craving. The man 
who labours from day to day for food and raiment, with 
no hope of bettering his condition, when he has earned 
his meal, eats it, and is satisfied. 

"He, with a bod}' filled and vacant mind, 
Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread: 
Never sees horrid Night, that child of Hell; 
But like a lacquey, from the rise to the set, 
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night 
Sleeps in Elysium. Next day after dawn, 
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, 
And follows thus the ever-running year 
"With profitable labour to his grave." 

This is the character and condition of the labourer, 
who can never expect to be any thing else, as sketched 
by the Great Master of nature. All who are familiar 
with the character of the southern slave, will see how 
just is this description as applied to him; and the re- 
semblance may be taken as a proof, if any be wanting, 
that the substance of slavery is all — the form nothing. 
The man who works and must work, from morn till 
night for food and raiment, without hope of change, is 
a slave. It matters not how he became so: by what 
authority his servitude is imposed: by what necessity it 
is maintained. 

The character of the man, however humble, whose 
labours are stimulated and directed by the hope of fu- 
ture affluence, is widely different. Hence, in a com- 
munity where such is the condition of the lowest class, 
you find neither the proverbial generosity of the beggar, 
nor the careless apathy so well described by Shakspeare. 



337 

Every man is alert and keen in the pursuit of gain, and 
the love of money, instead of being regarded as a sordid 
and degrading passion, is numbered among the virtues. 
There are those who teach it to their children as a duty, 
and they learn to look on extortion and fraud, and cor- 
ruption and bribes, but as means which may be sancti- 
Jied by the good end to be accomplished. It is prover- 
bial that avarice is an appetite which grows by feeding, 
and the sure returns of prosperity, that reward all sorts 
of exertion in a free and growing country, explain the 
fact, that in such a country the love of money becomes 
a master passion, governing society through all its 
classes. 

In such a community it is indispensable to check, in 
some way, the dangerous influence of wealth. This is 
acknowledged by all; but they differ widely about the 
means. Universal suffrage is the remedy which, almost 
everywhere, throughout the United States, has been 
rashly adopted. Its advocates affect to consider the 
land as being the thing represented, wherever the right 
of suffrage is restricted to freeholders; and dabblers in 
political arithmetic pretend to have found out, that if 
the owner of twenty-five acres ought to have one vote, 
consistency demands that a hundred votes should be 
assigned to him who owns twenty-five hundred acres. 
This miserable sophism, — this mockery of a reductio ad 
absurdurn, suffices to cheat many who utter, and more 
who hear it. If indeed the object of the advocates of 
such restriction were to increase the influence of wealth, 
there would be reason in the suggestion. But the way 
to accomplish that object, is by the use of a much less 
invidious device. Make suffrage universal, and let the 
owner of a large estate divide it among a hundred lease- 
holders, and it will be effectually attained under the 
cheating pretence of allowing an equal voice to every 
man. In that way, the landlord, in a community with- 
out slaves, would give the votes not only of his tenants, 
but of his menials and labourers. As it is, it is per- 
fectly notorious, that the wealthiest landed proprietor, 
in a slaveholding community, does not derive from his 
landed estate the means of influencing the vote of a 
29 



338 






single freeholder. Some influence over men of that 
description is indeed occasionally exercised by men of 
wealth; but it is the influence of the creditor over his 
debtor, the influence of the merchant over his indis- 
creet customer, the influence of the usurer over his 
wretched victim. Examples of this sort I have seen, 
and if they prove any thing, they prove, that, as a safe- 
guard against this influence, some farther qualification, 
besides the possession of a small freehold should be 
required. But the statesman should be satisfied with 
a qualification, which, in general, secures the indepen- 
dence of the voter, although, in very rare instances, it 
may be found inadequate. But while we see examples 
of this sort, it becomes us to consider what would be 
the effect, if no qualification were required. 

The argument is susceptible of being so presented 
as to wear something of the aspect of mathematical 
demonstration. The evil to be avoided is the undue 
influence of wealth in elections. Wealth is compara- 
tive, and the influence it exerts will depend on the 
difference between the wealth of him who wields this 
influence, and that of him who is to be governed by it. 
The greater the difference the greater will be the means 
of this mischievous influence; and, over him w T hose cir- 
cumstances place him in a state of dependence on 
another, it is absolute. There is perhaps no commu- 
nity in which the number of persons so circumstanced 
does not exceed the number of men of small but inde- 
pendent property. Hence, if suffrage be universal, and 
the wealthy combine themselves, as a class, to accom- 
plish any favourable objects, they can have no difficulty 
in commanding the votes necessary for their purpose. 
But restrict the right of suffrage to men of indepen- 
dent, though moderate landed estate, and whenever the 
wealthy propose to themselves any thing favourable to 
their own peculiar interests they will find themselves 
in a minority. 

Thus it appears that the freehold qualification of the 
voter, instead of being one of the franchises of wealth, 
is in fact the most effectual check upon its undue and 
dangerous influence. It is thus disarmed of its most 



339 

formidable weapon. The rich man will still possess 
an influence over his dependents, but he cannot use it 
for political purposes. He goes alone to the polls, and 
gives his single vote, which is overwhelmed by those of 
the small freeholders who border on his extensive pro- 
perty, while, perhaps, he has ten times that number of 
humble and devoted dependents, whose suffrages he 
could command, if they had suffrages to give. 

In short, gentlemen, he who would place the right of 
suffrage on such a basis as to afford security against the 
undue influence of wealth, will attain his object if he 
can ascertain the precise qualification which will secure 
a majority of voters rich enough to be above corrupt 
influence, and poor enough to give more of their sym- 
pathies to the poor than to the rich. 

It is the remark of a most profound thinker that no 
people ever set about reducing the qualification of the 
voter without going on to universal suffrage. The ten- 
dency seems irresistible. In every controversy in which 
the poorest class of voters happens to be outnumbered, 
the thought occurs to them that they would be more 
successful in future if they could introduce to the polls 
a few recruits from the class next below them. The 
rich man, on his part, may believe, that, among the 
lower class, he might find a larger proportion suscepti- 
ble of corrupt and sordid influence than is to be found 
among the qualified voters. With opposite views, there- 
fore, men of both classes combine to reduce the quali- 
fication. The demagogue perceives the working of these 
considerations on the minds of others, and anticipates 
that they will prevail in the end. He seeks therefore 
to make the votes of the class about to be enfranchised 
his own, and, with that view, puts himself forward as 
the advocates of their claims. The change becomes 
daily more probable — it becomes almost certain, and 
then many who deprecate and dread it are eager to 
disarm the evil of part of its mischief by affecting to 
desire it. Thus it is finally introduced, with a sem- 
blance of unanimity, and each extension of the fran- 
chise thus renders farther extensions more and more 
certain. The more formidable the class desiring to be 



340 

admitted to the polls — the greater the danger that they 
will abuse their franchise, the more certain is the suc- 
cess of their claims. 

No man conversant with the change, which the 
alteration in the constitution of Virginia has made in 
the composition of her legislature, can think with satis- 
faction of the effect of such an extension of the right 
of suffrage as would embrace the whole of her present 
free population. But great as that evil would be, it 
would be nothing to the mischief of a constituent body 
embracing not only these, but the whole of the abject 
class that must come in to take the place of the slaves 
if they were withdrawn. From that worst evil, from 
that fatal and irreparable abuse of the theory of demo- 
cracy we are saved by the existence of domestic slavery 
among us; and I must indeed be convinced that it is a 
sin, deeper and deadlier than those who most revile us, 
consider it, before I should consent to relinquish the 
security it affords against a state of things, which must 
end in anarchy or despotism. 

The morality of the institution I shall leave to the 
vindication I have already offered. My present purpose 
is to consider how it may aid us in working the difficult 
and complicated problem of self-government. In this 
the puzzle is to contrive such restraints on the sove- 
reign will of a free people as may be necessary to the 
preservation of their free institutions, without annihi- 
lating the freedom they are meant to secure. The 
Spartans preserved their political liberty by condemn- 
ing themselves to discipline as stern as that of the most 
rigorous personal slavery. This absurdity we should 
endeavour to avoid, but when we have done all we can, 
there is a seeming paradox in the idea of self-imposed 
restraints on the right of self-government. But the 
necessity of the thing is not the less certain. There is 
and must be an element in every society, which can 
only be restrained to its proper place, and withheld 
from mischief by coercion. If there is strength enough 
in the frame of government to make this coercion ef- 
fectual, that strength may be dangerous to the freedom 
of all. But if society is so organized that the element 



341 

in question can be restrained and directed by other 
energies than those of government, we escape the diffi- 
culty. 

"Society," says Burke, the most profound of political 
philosophers, ''cannot exist unless a controlling power 
upon will and appetite be placed somewhere." If it be 
in the frame of government, its operation may be an- 
noying to some on whom it is not necessary to impose 
restraint. If it be in the frame of society itself, it may 
be dispensed with in that of government; and they 
whose virtue and intelligence qualify them to live ex- 
empt from such control, may live in perfect freedom. 
None but a very presumptuous and unscrupulous man 
would go so far as to introduce domestic slavery with 
this view, on the strength of any reasoning a priori. 
But I account him rash, who, finding it established in 
the community into which he v/as born, should carry 
his regard to the abstract idea of equal right so far as 
to throw away, at this day, when the props and pillars 
of government in all civilized nations are shaken, a se- 
curity which such reasoning, backed by experience, 
shows to be so favourable to the harmonious combina- 
tion of order and freedom. 

To show the value of this element in our society, let 
me lay before you a passage from De Tocqueville's 
work on Democracy in America, in which he describes 
the political and social condition of the community as 
seen by him in the northern states. 

"At the present day," says he, "the more affluent 
classes of society are so entirely removed from the 
direction of affairs in the United States, that wealth, 
far from conferring a right to the exercise of power, is 
rather an obstacle than a means of attaining to it. The 
wealthy members of the community abandon the lists, 
through unwillingness to contend, and frequently to 
contend in vain, against the lowest class of their fel- 
low citizens. They concentrate all their enjoyments 
in the privacy of their homes, where they occupy a rank 
that cannot be assumed in public; and they constitute 
a private society in the state, which has its own tastes 
and its own pleasures. They submit to this state of 
29* 



342 

affairs as an irremediable evil, but they are careful not 
to show that they are galled by its continuance: it is 
not even uncommon to hear them laud the delights of a 
republican government, and the advantages of demo- 
cratic institutions, when they are in public. Next to 
hating their enemies, men are most inclined to flatter 
them. 

"Mark, for instance, that opulent citizen, luho is as 
anxious as a Jew of the middle ages, to conceal his 
wealth. His dress is plain, his demeanor unassuming, 
but the interior of his dwelling glitters with luxury, 
and none but a few chosen guests, whom he haughtily 
styles his equals, are permitted to penetrate into this 
sanctuary. No European noble is more exclusive in 
his pleasures, or more jealous of alhthe advantages 
which his privileged station confers upon him. But the 
very same individual crosses the city to reach a dark 
counting-house in the centre of trade where every one 
may accost him who pleases. If he meets his cobbler 
on the way, they stop and converse; the two citizens 
discuss the affairs of the state^ in which they have an 
equal interest, and they shake hands before they part. 

"But beneath this artificial enthusiasm and these ob- 
sequious attentions to the preponderating power, it is 
easy to see that the wealthy members of the community 
entertain a hearty distaste to the institutions of their 
country. The populace is at once the object of their 
scorn and of their fears. If the mal-ad ministration of 
the democracy ever brings about a revolutionary crisis, 
and if monarchial institutions ever become practicable 
in the United States, the truth of what I advance will 
become obvious." 

This passage is full of fearful meaning to those whom 
it concerns. Whether it is true in its application to 
the northern states, where the observations of the writer 
were made, it is certainly not true that any such state 
of things exists among us in the south. Had M. De 
Tocqueville come among us, he would have seen the 
difference, and what he here predicates of the whole 
Union would have been applied only to one section. 

It amounts to this — that, while the poorer classes are 



343 

secure in the enjoyment of all their rights, except so 
far as they may be endangered by their own caprices, 
the wealthier have not the same immunity. The right 
to fill that place in society to which the merit of the 
individual entitles him, and the right to discharge those 
public functions for which he is better qualified thau 
other men, are indeed but imperfect rights. But they 
are still rights; and the latter is one which no people 
denies without injustice to the party, and detriment to 
itself. These rights, according to De Tocqueville, are 
not recognised in the land of free labour and universal 
suffrage. The passion for display, contemptible as it 
is, is one of those the gratification of which men pro- 
pose to themselves, in the pursuit of wealth; but this, 
it seems, they hardly feel it safe to indulge to the ut- 
most. To those who have had occasion to observe the 
force of that passion, it belongs to calculate the energy 
of any cause that has power to repress it. De Tocque- 
ville likens the case to that of the Jews of the middle 
ages. These consented to possess their wealth in this 
state of imperfect enjoyment, and when we think of 
the tyrannical princes and rapacious nobles, who re- 
garded them as their prey, we perceive a force suffi- 
cient to secure their tameness in this abject condition. 
The power which enforces the like submission to the 
like degradation in the northern states, may be less 
palpable, but, perhaps, not less formidable. Men, who 
thus submit, display a consciousness that they hold, by 
sufferance, the right which they are permitted to enjoy, 
and it is to preserve these that the rest are surrendered. 
The gifts of Providence are most unjustly distributed 
if the acquisition of riches does not afford, at least, 
prima facia evidence of merit of some sort. We dis- 
parage too the advantages of free government, if we 
deny that, when all the avenues to prosperity are open 
to all, the industrious, enterprising, vigilant and en- 
lightened are most apt to win the prize. Is there not 
then something radically wrong, when those who- have 
given such indications of the qualities by which the 
public may be best served, are forthwith stigmatized 
and put under political disabilities, as a class ? Is not 



344 

this unjust to them and detrimental to the state? May 
we not be permitted to doubt whether the affairs of any 
people can be wisely administered, who thus, by a 
sweeping disqualification, discard from their service, 
not the ignorant, the abject, and the depraved, but the 
wise, the prudent, and the sagacious? This maybe 
right, if the affairs of a nation will be most wisely ad- 
ministered by the ignorant; if the reign of virtue will 
be best secured by the authority of the vicious; and if 
the elements of happiness will be most carefully and 
successfully cultivated by those who are strangers to 
that essential happiness whose seat is in the mind. 
But is there not something radically false in that which 
overturns the empire of reason, inverts the order of 
natural society, dethrones the mind of the community 
from its just supremacy, and assigns the tasks of thought 
to the unthinking, and the authority of law to those 
who should be the subjects of its corrective discipline? 
Again; can we cheat ourselves into the belief that 
there is perfect liberty, and with it the security that 
gives to liberty its charm and chief value, where they 
who succeed, by honest means, in winning the rewards 
of meritorious enterprise, are made to feel that they 
hold them by an uncertain tenure, and must be content 
to forego half their enjoyments, or sacrifice some of 
their rights, and incur the risk of losing all ? If it be 
true, as De Tocqueville supposes, "that the wealthier 
members of these communities entertain a hearty dis- 
taste to the democratic institutions of their country," 
is there no danger to these institutions to be apprehend- 
ed from that cause? Will wealth make no attempt, 
abortive though it must be, to secure itself, by political 
privileges, in its appropriate enjoyments? Will it be 
content to hold them by an uncertain tenure, while 
there is any hope of putting restraints on the rapacity 
that threatens it? Will a hungry multitude submit to 
such restraints? And will not a struggle ensue be- 
tween those who would impose and those who resist 
them, such as has never terminated but in a short-lived 
anarchy, followed by the rule of a despot? If these 
things be so, they who have gone on to work out the 



345 

problem of theoretical democracy, to its most extreme 
results, may have reason to suspect that they might 
wisely have stopped short of absolute perfection. To 
say no more, it might be doubted whether a constitu- 
tional disqualification of a class, which, taken collec- 
tively, may be regarded as ignorant, thriftless and de- 
praved, would not be better than the practical disquali- 
fication of another class, which, by a judgment founded 
on the most legitimate presumptions, may be considered 
collectively as wise, prudent and virtuous. 

I have already said, that, if M. De Tocqueville had 
come among us in the south Atlantic states, he would 
have seen nothing- of this. He might have found some- 
thing offensive to his democratic taste as reminding him 
of a privileged aristocracy in other countries. But 
his philosophical eye would have looked below the sur- 
face, and he would have seen, that there is, in truth, no 
aristocracy, because there are no political privileges. 
He would have seen no class of men, perhaps no single 
man cherishing "a hearty distaste to the institutions of 
his country." He would have seen, moreover, that 
this is so because there is no class that does not feel 
itself secure, not only in the possession, but in the 
fullest enjoyment of all its rights, whether original or 
acquired. He would have seen that this is so, because 
of the existence of an institution, which makes it im- 
possible that the strife for political power should ever 
be exasperated by hunger, and makes all men in all 
conditions alike safe; "the high from the blights of 
envy, the low from the iron sway of tyranny and op- 
pression." He would have seen why it is, that uni- 
versal suffrage fails to produce among us the same 
effect which it produces elsewhere: why is it, that the 
poor man here is not ashamed to manifest his gratitude 
to a wealthy benefactor, by a devoted attachment to 
his person, and a sense of his private virtues by readi- 
ness to commit to him the functions of public office. 
He would have seen that this is so, because universal 
suffrage introduces to the polls but a small number of 
those who have not a feeling sense of the importance 
and sanctity of the rights of property, and do not 



346 

cherish a prevailing desire for their security. He 
would have seen that this too is but an effect, and that 
the cause is domestic slavery. The deep seated repug- 
nance of that benevolent man to slavery, in any form, 
might make him hesitate to admit that any good could 
flow from such a source. But his candid mind might 
reflect that there is nothing perfect in the institutions 
of man, or in any of the works of his hand; and he 
might arrive at the conclusion, that this state of things 
is at least as good as that in which property is driven 
by the desire of security, to war against freedom, and 
numbers are excited by rapacity, or the fear of oppres- 
sion, to war against property. He must have seen, that 
our condition, such as it is, promises permanency; and 
he would hardly have denied that it is better than the 
anarchy and consequent despotism in which the other 
never fails to end. 

I beg you to remember, gentlemen, that I have but 
proposed to consider how far this institution is capable 
of being used as a remedy for that distemper of the 
body politic, which, if not the natural and necessary 
end of all good government, is, at least, the prevailing 
epidemic of the day. That it will be so used, when 
the time to test its value shall arrive, I hardly dare 
to hope. The desire of gain will not permit it. As 
society approaches that point at which labour becomes 
a drug, mammon will hardly fail to hint to the master 
that he might do better, first to emancipate, and then to 
hire his slave. The political economist will be at hand 
to back the suggestion, and to prove by calculation, and 
to show by statistical tables that the full resources of a 
country can never be developed by servile hands. 
These truths are indeed susceptible of rigid and palpa- 
ble demonstration, and they will probably prevail; and 
states, which have hitherto loitered in the race of wealth 
and improvement, will spring forward with renewed 
vigour, and, each in turn, and in due time, will find 
themselves, like the eastern Caliph, in that hall of 
Eblis, where, in the midst of pomp and splendour, a 
consuming fire will prey upon the heart of the body 
politic. 



347 

Yet would I fondly cherish the thought that the peo- 
ple of the southern states, checked in their career by 
the presence of an element in their society which is 
certainly not favourable to their advance toward this 
disastrous consummation, may learn its value before it 
be too late. The tie that binds the heart of the master 
to his slave is every clay gaining strength. The calm 
domestic tranquillity, and the sense of security which 
he enjoys in his reliance on the humble and faithful 
friends that surround him, are every day becoming more 
precious. He is every day less and less disposed to ex- 
change the cheerful, unbought, unforced obedience of 
willing hands and loving hearts for the hired service of 
domestic spies: to exchange the hereditary tie which 
has come down from generation to generation, for occa- 
sional contracts from month to month establishing be- 
tween those who yesterday were strangers and to-mor- 
row may be enemies, an intercourse the most confiden- 
tial, and relations the most intimate. Why should he 
make the exchange? Every day brings tidings of the 
disasters attending it elsewhere, and the most pros- 
perous states in the world are every day furnishing 
evidence to prove that wealth is not abundance, that 
prosperity is not happiness, and that discipline and 
subordination, however rigid, cannot always secure 
order and tranquillity. Why should he make the ex- 
change ? Is it because others cannot understand the 
relation he bears to his slave, and he has none but his 
own heart to witness the benevolence and equity that 
preside over it. Must he hang his head and hide his 
face with shame, when he hears others declaim against 
"the wrong and outrage with which earth is filled?" 
He has none such to answer for. Does his heart re- 
proach him, when he hears the indignant descant of 
England's purest moral bard; 

"I would not have a slave to till my ground, 
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
That sinews bought and sold have ever earned." 

And who would ? Would I ? W T ould you ? Would 



348 






you ? Would any man in this presence ? There may 
be some who would; and if there be, nowhere are 
they so detested as in the slave-holding country; and 
if among us here, there be one whose heart, more than 
any other, cherishes and echoes the sentiment of the 
poet, that man is a slave-holder. Is it not enough for us 
that we are conscious of living in obedience to the law 
of love, which, in whatever form it be cast, is the law 
of perfect liberty ? Should we not indeed rejoice and 
exult that it has been given to us to solve the difficulty 
of reconciling subordination with freedom, by restoring 
that beautiful harmony, in which power is gentle, and 
obedience liberal, and the will of the superior prevails, 
because it is the delight of the inferior to know and do 
it? "Is it such a mystery," says one* than whom 
none lives more devoted to the cause of liberty and 
humanity; "is it such a mystery to reconcile despotism 
with freedom? It is to make your despotism just. 
Rigorous as destiny, but just too as destiny; and its 
law, the laws of God. All men obey these; and have 
no freedom but in obeying them." 

But we may loiter and fall behind in the race of im- 
provement and refinement! And what of that? Does 
improvement heal the sick, or clothe the naked, or feed 
the hungry; or does it increase the multitude of suf- 
ferers and their miseries ? What is it but a medicine 
for the whole, who need no physic, which leaves un- 
tented the wounds and bruises and putrifying sores of 
afflicted millions ? And refinement! What is that but 
the new sauce, which the pampered Roman emperor so 
much coveted to stimulate his jaded appetite? What 
does it accomplish for the poor and needy, the proper 
objects of that benevolence which interferes on behalf 
of our slaves? What is it indeed but an alembic, in 
which the blood and sweat of thousands are distilled 
into one drop of concentrated enjoyment, for the use of 
those whose cup is full to overflowing, and whose capa- 
city for enjoyment is already gorged to loathing? 

u O! Fortunati nimium, sua si bona norint! !" 

* Carlyle. 



349 

My countrymen let no man deceive you. You have 
been chosen as the instrument, in the hand of God, for 
accomplishing the great purpose of his benevolence, ac- 
cording to a plan devised by his wisdom, and proclaimed 
in his word. You are in possession of every thing 
needful to your physical, intellectual and moral nature. 
There is enough of luxury for the health of either body 
or mind; there is comfort of a high order for the great 
body of society, and there is abundance for all. Be- 
sides this, and more than this, you have domestic peace, 
and security, and harmony, and love. You live under 
the discipline of a social system, by which the mind is 
informed, and the heart made better, and you have all 
the leisure necessary for intellectual and moral culture. 
You have all the elements of happiness, and all the in- 
centives to virtue. 

You have, moreover, a constitution of society, which 
makes the tasks of government easy, leaving no pre- 
text to ambition, and no motive to misrule. Preserve 
that, and you will find no difficulty in preserving the 
institutions bequeathed by your ancestors, and per- 
petuating a form of government under which all are 
free, and none so free as those the world cjills slaves. 
Study the capabilities and the imperfections of the sys- 
tem. Cultivate the one and reform the other. Make 
the slave secure, and make him feel himself secure from 
the envious insolence of degraded freemen, and the 
petty vexations of a superfluous police. Make the hand 
of the master strong to protect him from all injustice; 
and leave the rest to his own sense of interest, and to 
the kindly working of the best affections of the human 
heart. 

Gentlemen ; I have spoken as in the presence of the 
searcher of hearts. I have testified to nothing which I 
do not know to be true. I have uttered no sentiment 
which I do not feel to be just; I have offered no argu- 
ment which I do not believe to be sound. I plead be- 
fore you the cause, not only of the master, but of the 
slave. I beseech you; I beseech the whole civilized 
world to leave us to execute as we may the task to 
which we have been appointed, and to work out unmo- 
30 



350 



lested an experiment, on which the temporal and 
eternal welfare of so many millions of human beings 
depend. 



LECTURE XVIII. 

Jl Discourse on the Qenius of the Federative System of 
the United States. 

I appear before you, gentlemen, in compliance with 
an invitation which deserves my grateful acknowledg- 
ments. To have been deemed capable of offering one 
thought proper to guide your minds in the pursuit of 
truth, is an honour, which I beg you to believe I highly 
appreciate. In proportion to my sense of it, has been 
my anxiety not to disappoint your favourable anticipa- 
tions. I have felt that it was my duty to give my best 
thoughts to the selection of some topic worthy of your 
attention. In my choice, I have been aided by the ob- 
vious reflection, that you would naturally expect from 
me a discourse on some subject not remotely allied to 
the studies of the youth committed to my charge. With 
these you have reason to suppose me most familiar; and 
it became me to believe that your invitation was dictat- 
ed more by a wish to hear something connected with 
them, than by any misjudging partiality for myself. 

To what theme, then, could I more naturally turn, 
than to that of the peculiar character and structure of 
our political institutions ? What subject is it so much, 
at once, the interest and the duty of every man to 
study and understand ? We are a free people; and 
when we say this, it becomes us to consider what we 
say, and to form adequate ideas of all the rights and 
all the duties implied in that word freedom. We are 
emphatically a free people; free in theory, and free in 
fact. By the. unqualified acknowledgment of all the 
functionaries who minister in our affairs, they are our 
servants, and we their masters and our own. What 



351 

study then so interesting as that of the charter of our 
rights ? 

Yes, gentlemen, we are free; and this, our freedom, 
is our boast, for this at least we have, in common with 
the men whose history is fame, and whose deeds most 
nobly illustrate the name of man. The beacon-light 
which guided Miltiades, and Themistocles, and Cincin- 
natus, and Camillus, and Cato, and (greatest of all) 
our own illustrious Washington, along the path of 
glory, still shines for us, and to us the same path is still 
open. To emulate their deeds and rival their renown 
is the task before us; for to be free, is to have it always 
in our choice to devote ourselves to the well-being of 
our country and the world. 

Yes, gentlemen! The career of these distinguished 
men is open to us; but it is only as the career of Cyrus 
was open to Sardanapalus; the career of Titus to Do- 
mitian; the career of Trajan to Elagabelus; as the 
career of every monarch, illustrious for wisdom and 
virtue, has been open to those scourges of the earth, 
whose life has been one wanton and tyrannical abuse 
of powers conferred for the benefit of their fellow men. 

Gentlemen: it is in no unkind spirit that I have sug- 
gested this comparison. It is that I may at once startle 
you to a sense of the eternal though much perverted 
truth, "that liberty is power;" and that all power, 
whether that of a sovereign prince or a sovereign citi- 
zen, is alike a trust, delegated by the same all-wise 
being, and enforced by the same sanctions; — honour, 
the reward — infamy, the punishment. Do you look 
with contempt and abhorrence, 

"On him who sits amid the gaudy herd 

Of mute barbarians bending to his nod, 

And says within himself, 'I am a king; 

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of wo 

Intrude upon mine ear'?' " 

Well may you do so; forgetful as he is, that the power 
of which he boasts, was given him that he might make 
the sorrows of his people his own, and succour their 
distress, and mitigate their calamities, and soothe their 



352 

afflictions. But have you no kindred feeling for him, 
who says within himself, "I am a freeman; and where- 
fore should the eye of God or man inspect my ways or 
hold me answerable ?" Reverse the case, and the ques- 
tion might be more appropriate. Were he a slave — his 
misdeeds might be another* s crimes. As it is, he is 
master of his actions and his destiny. Who shall stand 
between him and the arbitrament of public opinion?' 
Who shall shelter him from the irreversible condemna- 
tion of posterity? Who shall screen him from the eye 
of the judge of quick and dead ? 

Gentlemen: if to be thus free, is to be thus responsi- 
ble, (and that it is so, heaven and earth do witness,) is 
it less your duty than that of the nursling of royalty, 
to acquaint yourselves with the true character of the 
government whose authority you direct, and the en- 
during interests of the country whose destinies have 
been committed to your hand ? 

You will readily answer, "No." Yet some may be 
surprised at the earnestness of this question, supposing, 
as so many do, that nothing is so easy as the successful 
administration of the affairs of a free people. That this 
idea is delusive, the history of every nation that ever 
tasted of freedom too plainly shows. Precisely in pro- 
portion to the strength of this delusion, and the appa- 
rent simplicity of free government, is the difficulty of 
the task. This it is that renders men impatient under 
the restraints of wholesome laws. This it is that esta- 
blishes a miscalculating confidence in the efficacy of 
forms of government and constitutional restraints. 
This it is that causes that confidence to glide from the 
government itself to those who administer it, that lulls 
into fatal security that jealousy, whose sleepless watch 
is the only safeguard of freedom, and commits the keys 
of the fortress of liberty to hands which convert it into 
a dungeon. 

Gentlemen: freedom, in its simplest, social form, is 
an affair of government. The philosophy of social 
freedom is the philosophy of self-government. If this 
were all, this alone were enough to show the difficulty 
of the problem. Who of us is equal to the task of self- 



353 

government, even on the narrow theatre of private life, 
and in the discharge of its simple duties ? Yet it is 
in that sacred regard to these, and all the other duties 
of life, which we dignify by the name of virtue, that 
political philosophers place the foundation of republican 
government. "Men," says the wisest of all observers 
on the political history of man, "men are qualified for 
civil liberty in exact proportion to their disposition to 
put moral chains upon their own appetites; in propor- 
tion as their love of justice is above their rapacity; in 
proportion as their soundness and sobriety of under- 
standing is above their vanity and presumption; in 
proportion as they are more disposed to listen to the 
counsels of the wise and good, in preference to the 
flattery of knaves. Society cannot exist, unless a con- 
trolling power upon will and appetite be placed some- 
where, and the less of it there is within, the more there 
must be without. It is ordained in the eternal consti- 
tution of things that men of intemperate minds cannot 
be free. Their passions forge their fetters." 

Hear too, I pray you, the remarks, by which the pro- 
found and philosophic Montesquieu illustrates the ne- 
cessity of the controlling presence of virtue in a re- 
public: "When virtue is banished," says he, "ambition 
invades the hearts of all who are capable of receiving it, 
and avarice possesses the whole community. They had 
been free with laws. Now they want to be free without 
them. Every citizen is like a slave just escaped from 
his master. What once was maxim is now called ri- 
gour: to order they give the name of restraint, and that 
of fear to prudence. Frugality, then, and not the 
thirst of gain, passes for avarice. Before, the pro- 
perty of private men constituted the public treasure; 
but now, the public treasure is become private property. 
Then it is, that the members of the commonwealth riot 
on the public spoils, and its whole force is reduced to 
the power of the few and the licentiousness of the 
many." 

I am fearful, gentlemen, that no suggestion will be 
necessary to awaken your attention to the resemblance, 
in some traits of this striking picture, to objects with 
30* 



354 

which your thoughts are familiar. But it has not been 
presented for this purpose. My design is to bring be- 
fore you a high authority, verified, in part, by your own 
experience, in proof of the indissoluble alliance between 
freedom and virtue, and the necessity of preserving the 
latter as the only safeguard of the former. 

And how shall public virtue be preserved ? By the 
same means which are found most efficacious to secure 
regard to all the duties of private life. By strengthen- 
ing the incentives, and weakening the dissuasives to 
virtue. 

Foremost among the first is the love of country, aided 
by the love of honourable fame. But what must be 
that love of country, which is to furnish an ever present 
and prevailing motive of action, intense enough to 
triumph over' the seductions of pleasure, the tempta- 
tions of avarice, the blandishments of ambition ? Shall 
it be a mere abstraction, and conversant only with ab- 
stractions ? Can a name, an imaginary boundary, an 
arbitrary association of discordant interests and charac- 
ters, possess a charm of such power ? What indeed 
is our country, but that which embraces the objects of 
all the ties which bind man to his kind ? And what is 
love of country, but a compendium of all the natural 
affections of the heart — a blending of "all the charities 
of all to all?" 

Is it not obvious, gentlemen, that a society, embrac- 
ing all that is dear to the heart of any man, must unite 
upon it the strongest attachment, of which his particu- 
lar nature is capable ? Is it not also certain, though 
perhaps less obvious, that this attachment will have less 
of the fervour of passion, in proportion as its object is 
weakened and diluted by being combined with other 
objects which are regarded with indifference and per- 
haps aversion ? Every man is more deeply sensible of 
the ties which bind him to his own immediate family, 
than of his more extended relation to the society of 
which his family is a member. But let that family form 
but an inconceivably small part of a collective whole, 
made up of jarring opinions, and uncongenial feelings, 
and incongruous habits, and adverse prejudices, and 



355 

conflicting interests, and there is danger that the love 
of family and friends, on the one hand, and the love of 
country on the other, instead of being identical, will 
become antagonist passions. The very sentiments — out 
of whose delicate fibre is spun the strong cord that 
binds the heart of man to his country — may they not 
thus hold back his affections from fastening on that ob- 
ject ? In short, gentlemen, does not a sound view of 
the philosophy of the human mind point to the conclu- 
sion, verified by all experience, that it is in small com- 
munities only, that the love of country is found to 
glow, with the intensity of those passions, which ac- 
count life as worthless, in comparison with the honour 
of a wife, the purity of a daughter, or even a wanton's 
whim. When the countless hosts of Germany met at 
Austerlitz the army of Bonaparte, the pride of military 
glory, the very certaminis gaudia nerved them to a 
short and vigorous struggle, and then they scattered 
like chaff' before the wind, and their country sunk un- 
resisting before the triumphant invader. But when 
three hundred inhabitants of a petty Swiss canton en- 
countered at Mogarten the overwhelming force of Aus- 
tria, they thought not of victory — they thought not of 
glory — they thought not of safety. Their thoughts 
were only of their country. Their country, their whole 
country, was spread out before their eyes, and from every 
commanding height each soldier looked on the scenes 
of his childhood's sports, on the fields his own hands 
had tilled, on the roof that sheltered his loving wife 
and tender babes. There they stood, fighting as men 
who, in the midst of despair, perform the tasks of hope. 
There each fell fighting where he stood, and none was 
left to tell the story of that glorious but disastrous day. 
Such are the deeds that testify that the love of country 
may be a passion which shall spurn at every thing 
which might frighten or allure, and which can triumph 
even in death by leaving the conqueror nothing but the 
worthless carcass of him he would enslave. 

But, gentlemen, it is not through fear alone that 
liberty is endangered. Other passions, though less 
abject, are more corrupting; and death itself does not 



356 

more powerfully influence the mind than the tempta- 
tions of avarice, and the allurements of ambition. But 
what is that ambition, whose loftiest aim is the sove- 
reignty of a petty canton ? What is that avarice, whose 
cravings can be satisfied by the plunder of a small and 
poor state ? Weak, indeed, must be the love of coun- 
try which would not be proof against such paltry temp- 
tations. Between the chief of a community, whose 
place can scarcely be distinguished on the map — whose 
existence is hardly noted in the history of the world — 
and him who is but eminent among his neighbours for 
probity, benevolence and wisdom, ambition itself sees 
little choice. The love of power is rarely any thing 
but the love of money, or the love of fame, and weak 
must be the temptation to seek a station which promises 
little of the one, and nothing of the other. Ambition 
is indeed at work everywhere; in the village as in the 
metropolis; in the canton as in the mighty empire. 
"Little things are great to little men/' But, gentle- 
men, it is not by little men that the liberties of states 
are overthrown, and the destinies of nations fixed for 
good or ill. The evils, against which we have to guard 
on the side of ambition, are those which might furnish 
motives of prevailing influence over men capable of 
great achievements. Ambition, in such a man, when 
his lot is cast in an inconsiderable community, lifts his 
aspiring eye to objects far above the paltry offices and 
petty political distinctions of the state. She reminds 
him that he is a member of the republic of letters, of 
the great family of man, and incites him 

"To make his mind the mind of other men, 
The enlightener of nations." 

Hence the flood of light — the continued stream of 
moral and intellectual influences — that the little re- 
public of Geneva has poured upon the world, from 
minds, which placed in mightier states, might have 
shaken thrones, and changed the destinies of the earth. 
It is in such states — in states that figure in the drama of 
the great commonwealth of nations, and whose annals 



357 

form a conspicuous part in the history of the world — 
here it is that ambition finds its natural aliment, and 
displays its portentous power. 

Gentlemen: had the task which lay before our fathers, 
been nothing more than to devise a government for the 
small, though magnanimous colony of Virginia, ade- 
quate to her wants and consistent with her free spirit, 
that task would have been comparatively easy. Ex- 
perience has shown, that the slight change in her do- 
mestic polity, rendered necessary by a severance of 
her connection with the mother country, was all-suffi- 
cient. The history of the world might be safely chal- 
lenged to produce an example of a government more 
exactly fulfilling all its legitimate purposes, and no 
more, for fifty years after that event. Do you ask 
the reason ? Look at the powers of your public func- 
tionaries! AY hat object was there to provoke ambition? 
Look to the fiscal resources of the state! What w~as 
there to fill the rapacious man of avarice? Look to the 
whole structure of the government, and then find the 
man who could promise himself, from any abuse of its 
powers, an equivalent for the blessings to be enjoyed 
under its faithful administration! 

The extreme simplicity and perfect efficiency of the 
original constitution of Virginia, so long as it was re- 
tained, may suggest to some the thought, that, in the 
problem of free government, there is less difficulty than 
I have supposed. But, alas! gentlemen, there was, in 
that constitution, one capital defect. It had not the 
faculty of preserving itself; for it provided no security 
against corruptions from without, and a consequent 
spirit of innovation, which first changed the people, 
and, through them, changed the constitution. 

But still the question comes back upon us: How did 
it happen, that, through the lapse of half a century, 
the history of Virginia fully justifies the boast of one 
of her noblest sons — the boast, that during all that 
time, "not only did no instance occur, but no charge 
was ever made, no suspicion entertained, of one single 
act of corruption in any officer in legislative, executive 
or judicial station: that no poor man had ever been op- 



358 

pressed with impunity; no rich man exalted on the 
mere strength of wealth alone; and that no commotion, 
no faction, no animosities had ever arisen among us, in 
relation to our internal affairs of government." 

The answer to this bold challenge is to be found in 
considering how much of the sources of corruption and 
undue influence, how many of the incentives to ambi- 
tion, and lures to rapacity are found in the management 
of the external relations of a state. These give rise 
to armies, and navies, and foreign embassies; and these 
to commercial regulations and overflowing revenues; 
and here it is that ambition- finds objects worthy of its 
aspirations, and the means of attaining them by the cor- 
rupting influence of gold. 

From these mischiefs, our domestic institutions were 
happily exempted, by the arrangement which com- 
mitted to the federal government the management of 
all these high and delicate concerns. Within itself, 
therefore, the state government carried no principle of 
corruption— no disturbing influence to unsettle the 
balance of its powers, and the harmony of its action. 
But it would have been unworthy of the wisdom of 
our ancestors to suppose that the evil was eradicated, 
because the mischief was thus turned aside. On the 
contrary, it became them to reflect, that if the foreign 
relations of a petty state might awaken ambition and 
afford the means of swaying and corrupting her public 
servants, the same danger was more to be apprehended 
from a government wielding the sword and the trident, 
and administering the revenues of all this vast con- 
tinent. 

The history of the time is full of proof that this 
danger was viewed with an anxious eye. The forma- 
tion of a vast reservoir of patronage and influence, 
which might burst its bounds, and sweep before it all 
the barriers of the constitution, was a work which de- 
manded all the skill and all the caution of the able 
men engaged in it. The possibility, that such a de- 
stroying stream might be poured over the land, was a 
necessary consequence of the union. To stay the tor- 
rent by direct opposition, might be impracticable. 



359 

What remained, but to remove, as far as possible, from 
its desolating course, the great bulwarks which defend 
the rights of life, and liberty, and property, and do- 
mestic peace, and the blissful relations of private life? 

To secure this end, an attempt was made to dissoci- 
ate, from the command of these sources of influence, 
all authority to legislate over the private interests of 
men ; to accumulate as many as possible of the powers 
of government in the hands of state functionaries, 
having little of patronage to recommend misrule to the 
favour of the aspiring and greedy; and to strip the dis- 
pensers of the enormous revenues of the union of all 
pretexts to invade the sanctuaries of private rights. 

Another consideration strongly recommended the 
same distribution of powers. It has been well and 
truly said, that it is the duty of every people to con- 
sider themselves as the trustees of the providence of 
God, in the use and enjoyment of such portion of his 
earth as he has allotted to them. Made for the use of 
man, it is his office to develope its resources, and to 
task its utmost powers for the benefit of the human 
race. To this object his legislation should be adapted. 
Is he blessed with a fertile soil and genial climate, that 
he may suffer the earth to waste its affluence in wild 
luxuriance, poisoning the air with rank and unprofitable 
vegetation? Will not the cry of the hungry orphan 
rise up to heaven against him, who thus abuses the 
bounty of the common father of all ? Do the bowels 
of his land teem with rich ores, designed for man, and 
shall he not draw them forth from the deep recesses, 
where almighty wisdom has deposited them for his use? 
Do gushing streams pour down from barren hills into 
unfruitful vallies, and shall he fail to subdue to his ser- 
vice the mighty power, which, since the world began, 
has thus been wasting its gigantic strength, and wait- 
ing only for the controlling hand of man to direct its 
energies to the mill, the forge, the loom, and all the 
infinite variety of machineries, by which the comforts 
of life are extended, multiplied and diffused? Do his 
insular situation, and safe and capacious harbours, give 
him peculiar advantages for commercial enterprise, and 



360 

shall he not spread his sails to every wind of heaven, 
and devote himself to the noble task of communicating 
to every part of the earth all the peculiar advantages 
of each ? 

That such is the duty of man to his Maker and his 
race, none will deny; and, so far as legislation is ne- 
cessary to the fulfilment of this duty, so far should it 
*be directed to that object. But how would this task be 
performed by a legislative body, supreme in all things, 
and giving law in all things, to a country extending 
from Passamaquoddy to Cape Florida, to the Gulf of 
Mexico, and to the shores of the Pacific; a country 
embracing every variety of soil, and climate, and pro- 
duction, and including various states, some exclusively 
fitted for agriculture, some for manufactures, and some 
for commerce ? Could the system of legislation which 
is best for each, be best for all ? Must the resources of 
all be but partially and imperfectly called forth; or 
must the mean necessary to their full development in 
one part, be used to the utter destruction of all hope of 
a like result in the other? Gentlemen — we had just 
seen the trial and the failure of a like experiment made 
on this principle. The British colonies in North Ame- 
rica, so long as the parent government confined her 
legislation to the proper objects of mere commercial 
regulation, had grown and flourished in a degree unex- 
ampled in the history of man. But a claim was set up 
by the imperial parliament, of a right to legislate for 
the colonies in all things; by an old country, for a coun- 
try in its infancy; by a commercial and manufacturing 
country, for a country almost exclusively agricultural. 
The consequence of this pretension was a severance of 
the connection, which our fathers saw must be fatal to 
the ultimate prosperity of the colonies. 

What different result could have been expected, had 
the general congress of the United States been endued 
with powers to legislate in all things for the whole of 
this vast continent? How long would it have been be- 
fore a fixed local majority would find or create a fixed 
local interest, to be advanced by legislation at the ex- 
pense of a fixed local minority ? What hope would 



361 

there have been, that such a project, once formed, would 
ever have been relinquished ? In small communities, 
the occasions for such combinations might be more 
obvious and more frequent. But in such it might not 
always be in vain to appeal to the sympathy or mag- 
nanimity of the stronger party. Such an appeal, made 
in an assembly of the people, addressed to men, each 
acting for himself, and responsible to none but himself, 
each exercising his share of legislative power in his 
own person, and for his own behoof; such an appeal, 
addressed to men so circumstanced, and on behalf of 
friends, and neighbours, and kindred, might not unfre- 
quently prevail. The unequal working of an oppres- 
sive system could not be denied. Their own senses 
would be the witnesses. The complaints of the suf- 
ferers would sink into the hearts of those having daily 
before their eyes the evidence of the calamities en- 
dured. But who will expect a sacrifice of interest to 
sympathy in favour of the people of a distant region, 
of different manners, habits, opinions, and prejudices, 
perhaps of a different race, or deriving from their ances- 
tors a far-descended and long-cherished animosity, both 
religious and political? But even though, could such 
appeals be made to the people directly, some momen- 
tary relentings. might touch their hearts, what advan- 
tage of this sort could be expected, in a representative 
assembly, where each man acts, not for himself, but for 
others, and makes it a point of conscience to harden 
his heart against the compunctious visitings of nature, 
and to resist the influence of every consideration but 
those that spring from the peculiar, and even the mere 
local interests of his immediate constituents? 

Such, gentlemen, are the evils, to which our masters 
in political philosophy allude, when they warn us against 
the consequences of consolidation. Such are the mis- 
chiefs, against which the authors of our institutions in- 
tended to guard, when distributing the powers of 
government between the functionaries of the states 
respectively, and those of the whole collective union. 
In the necessity of devising some means to place the 
external relations of all the states on the same footing, 
31 



362 

and to unite the powers of all for the common defence, 
was found the sole and avowed motive to the adoption 
of the federal constitution. So far as the general go- 
vernment is made instrumental to other ends besides 
these, so far do its administrators offend against the 
spirit, even when they do not transcend the letter of 
that instrument. 

On the other hand, we behold the state governments 
in the full exercise of that sovereignty, which holds at 
its disposal the life, the liberty, the property of every 
man in the community; yet so restrained from any 
abuse of powers so formidable, that we become almost 
unconscious of their existence. Yet there they are, 
and so few were the limitations imposed by the original 
constitution of this state in particular, that theoretical 
politicians did not hesitate to pronounce the omnipotent 
legislature of Virginia the very beau ideal of a many- 
headed despotism. Yet where were its despotic acts? 
Where do we find the history of its abuse of this seem- 
ingly gigantic power ? Nowhere. Where then do we 
find the principle which has restrained this body from 
perverting its authority to any purpose of oppression or 
injustice? 

We find it, gentlemen, in the total absence of all 
those sources of corrupting influence, which take their 
rise in the management of external relations, and the 
disbursement of the vast revenues necessary for that 
purpose. Wanting these, the government of Virginia 
has nothing wherewithal to gild oppression, to varnish 
injustice, to buy the support of the mercenary, and to 
engage the co-operation of the ambitious. Look at our 
history! From what quarter of the state has the voice 
of complaint risen up against the state government, for 
the alleged abuse of any of its powers ? What public 
functionary, however armed with official authority, 
however conspicuous foj- talent, however illustrious for 
public service, has dared to defy the popular will, or 
professing to respect it, has attempted to mould it to 
the purposes of his ambition ? Look, gentlemen, to the 
highest office in the gift of the people of this state. Who 
feels the influence of the incumbent? Respectable as 



363 

he certainly is, how many of us here present actually 
know his name ? Who has ever imputed to him the 
power of controlling elections in favour of his parti- 
zans ? What fawning minion can he provide for by 
means of lucrative salaries,* passing him on from post 
to post, and while his unfitness for all alike is manifest 
to the world, retaining him still in office ? What female 
of tainted reputation would he dare to obtrude on the 
chaste society of Richmond ? On whom can he cast 
the mantle of his authority ? Where is the man whom 
his anointing hand can consecrate as his successor ? 

Nor do I limit the application of these questions to 
the present incumbent of that office. The answers, 
which would be true in his case, will prove equally true 
with reference to the most illustrious of his predeces- 
sors. The page of Virginia's annals is bright with the 
most glorious names that live in history. Among them 
we find that of Patrick Henry. "His breath was agita- 
tion, and his life a storm whereon he rode." But, in 
the silent discharge of his duties as governor of Virgi- 
nia, that tempest was stilled: the word of power, which 
struck the sceptre from the tyrant's grasp, was heard 
no more* and his official career is nowise distinguishable 
by any extraordinary influence or authority, from that 
of the humblest of his successors. There too we find 
the name of Thomas J'efFerson. As president of the 
United States, he has been seen to exercise a power 
over the thoughts, the affections, the will of his coun- 
trymen, without example before his time. As governor 
of Virginia, what was he, but an official drudge, bound 
down to the literal execution of his limited functions ? 
Was the chair of state a throne of power to James 
Monroe, or but a stepping-stone from which his ambi- 
tion might mount — up — to a higher place — on the foot- 
stool — of the president of the United States ? 

These questions, gentlemen, are asked in no invi- 
dious spirit. They are but meant to remind you how 
perfectly the great ends of free government have been 
accomplished among ourselves, by cutting off" from the 
state authorities all the sources of influence which 
spring from armies and navies, and foreign representa- 



364 

tion, and the enormous revenues necessary to these 
objects. Deprived of these, the full and unquestioned 
authority to prescribe to us all the rules which are to 
regulate our civil conduct, and to enforce them by the 
most fearful penalties, is powerless, except for good. 
In like manner, in the regulation of our domestic po- 
lice, and of the rights of individuals, and in all that 
pertains to the general welfare of the people and state, 
we find the duties of equal and exact justice to all men 
enforced by a responsibility to the public will, from 
which there is no escape. 

If these things be so — if such be the security to pri- 
vate right and public weal, resulting from the denial of 
such means of influence to those who minister in our 
domestic relations — how important must it be, to guard 
the barrier intended to secure our private interests and 
pursuits from the invasions of an authority armed with 
all the power, and all the influence incident to the 
management of the foreign relations of this vast conti- 
nent! The danger is alike in both cases, but far dif- 
ferent in degree. Was it unsafe to commit to the state 
executive the dispensation of the patronage incident to 
the representation of the miniature sovereignty of Vir- 
ginia among the nations of the earth; and can it be safe 
to trust to the government, which manages the whole 
foreign relations of all the states collectively of this 
extensive confederacy, any, the least, right to meddle 
in matters properly belonging to the municipal sove- 
reignty? If it be unsafe to trust the trident — the 
thunder-bolt — the olive-branch — to him who presides 
over the calm relations of private Life, can it be safe to 
permit him who is already familiar with these emblems 
of rule and instruments of power, to touch, with his 
heavy hand, the delicate interests of individuals, and 
to bring his portentous authority to interfere in adjust- 
ing the domestic rights and relations of men ? 

These thoughts are suggested, gentlemen, for the 
purpose of presenting fully to your view the objects 
which the framers of our institutions proposed to them- 
selves, in dissociating the power to regulate the foreign 
relations of the confederacy, from the power to manage 



365 

the domestic concerns, and to legislate over the pecu- 
liar interests of the state respectively. How far their 
purposes were wise, and their plan judicious, is well 
illustrated by the operation of the state governments in 
which this plan has done its perfect work. If it has 
failed elsewhere, it is because the wise and patriotic 
statesmen of that day had no measure by which to esti- 
mate with accuracy the force of the untried powers 
which they were about to commit to the hands of the 
federal government. The history of the time shows 
that they but imperfectly foresaw the extent of those 
powers, the magnitude and importance of the confede- 
racy, the abundance of its resources, the overflowing 
affluence of its revenues, and the vast amount and 
various character of its wide-spread and all-pervading 
patronage. Had they foreseen these things, they would 
have heeded the warning voice of that great statesman, 
whose tomb is in the midst of you,* admonishing them 
"that a defect of power may be supplied, but that an 
excess of power can never be recalled." 

Gentlemen, in this simple proposition there is at 
once a manifest truth and a self-evident importance, 
which startle us with their palpable distinctness. We 
pause, we reflect. We wonder that men engaged in 
the delicate task of devising a form of government for 
themselves, should ever fail to practise on this maxim. 
What so simple, as to give, in the first instance, 
powers certainly not excessive, and, guided by expe- 
rience, to add more as events might show that more 
were necessary ? 

Gentlemen, this is precisely the problem which the 
framers of our institutions proposed to work, in adjust- 
ing the balance of power between the state and federal 
governments. With a vast majority of the men of that 
day, there was a paramount desire to guard the sove- 
reignty of the states, and by no means to arm the 
hands of federal functionaries with any pretext for in- 
terfering with the proper subjects of state legislation. 

* Patrick Henry lies buried in the county of Campbell, in 
which the town of Lynchburg is situated. 
31* 



366 

But it happened, unfortunately, that while these were 
candidly discussing the more or less of power, which 
might be entrusted to the federal government without 
impairing the sovereignty of the states, there were 
some among them who deemed any such distribution of 
powers wholly impracticable. To them the very idea 
of state sovereignty was alternately an object of dread 
and derision. To them it seemed "that the rod of 
Aaron must swallow up the rods of the magicians, or 
that the rods of the magicians would devour the rod of 
Aaron." I here use the language of one of the mem- 
bers of the convention which framed the constitution, 
as spoken in debate, and recorded by the hand of him 
who uttered it. To such gentlemen it seemed best to 
carry out the parable, in conformity with the scriptural 
account, and so to give the rods of the magicians to be 
devoured by the rod of Aaron. 

It is no impeachment of the motives of such men 
to say, that in all attempts to adjust the balance of 
power, they were ever ready to throw their weight into 
the scale of the central government. Hence the warn- 
ing voice of Patrick Henry was uttered to unheeding 
ears. The consequence has been that we have lived to 
experience the truth, so simple in its announcement, 
and in its application so little understood; and to learn 
that a government, however weak, having power to 
assume more power, has already too much. Overlook- 
ing this, we have fallen into an unsuspecting confidence 
in the sufficiency of the state governments to control 
federal usurpations, until the authority and name of the 
state governments have sunk into contempt, under the 
overwhelming power of the government of the United 
States, and all the rights of a fixed local minority are 
held at the mercy of a fixed local majority, interested 
to plunder and oppress. 

I have said that the error which has led to these con- 
sequences had its rise in a miscalculation of the force 
of the untried powers conferred by the constitution on 
the federal government. But there was, moreover, a 
fatally mistaken reliance on the pride of state sove- 



367 

reignty, and the attachment of the people to the au- 
thority and institutions of their states respectively. 

In that day the primitive people of the ancient and 
respectable states of New England, cherished, in a 
spirit of exclusive appropriation, the honour of their 
descent from men, who, for conscience sake, had turned 
their backs on all the comforts of civilized life, on all 
the dear delights of home, and on all the hallowed 
scenes of their father-land, to seek, in a savage wilder- 
ness, a sanctuary of the heart, where they might wor- 
ship God in their own way. This was their peculiar 
boast and pride. In this the other states had no part. 
Far from it; for south of the Chesapeake they saw the 
descendants of the very men, with whom their ances- 
tors had struggled, in their common country, for mas- 
tery, for property, for freedom, and for life. 

In that day, the people of Pennsylvania still cele- 
brated in their hearts the mild glories of their pacific 
triumphs over the savage race. To them, the success 
which had crowned their labour of love, and established 
them the peaceful and prosperous masters of a soil un- 
stained by blood, was a source of exultation all their 
own. 

Interposed between these, the state of New York 
still retained many of the features of her original 
character as a Dutch colony. The uncouth names, the 
habits, the manners, and, in some measure, the language 
of her people, distinguished them from their neighbours 
on either hand. Their traditional honours were those 
of another and a rival race. The triumphs of the 
Blakes and Boscawens of England, were not their 
boast. Their glory was in the achievements of De 
Ruyter and Van Tromp, in laurels plucked from the 
British crown, and in the long and doubtful struggle 
maintained with the British flag for the mastery of the 
narrow seas- 

Proudest of all, in that day, stood old Virginia, 
vaunting her descent from the gallant cavaliers, who 
had poured out their blood like water in loyal devotion 
to an undeserving prince: who, when all was lost, found 
refuge here — and here, in defiance of the parliament of 



368 

England, offered an asylum to his worthless and un- 
grateful son. She had scarce then forgotten, when, in 
the provinces beyond the Delaware, she saw none but 
the Swede and the Hollander, and the lineal and de- 
voted inheritor of the far-descended antipathy between 
the round-head and the cavalier. In that day Virginia 
had not forgotten to boast that the love of .liberty which 
then animated her, was a principle hardly more lofty 
and generous, than her steadfast and devoted loyalty in 
earlier times. It was her pride to reflect, that in all 
her struggles with power, no want of fidelity, no want 
of gratitude, no disregard of natural or covenanted obli- 
gations, and no defect of magnanimity, could be imputed 
to her. When the crown was torn from the head of 
Charles I. she had stood alone in her loyalty; she was 
the last to acknowledge the usurper; the last to submit 
to inevitable necessity, and the first to return to her 
allegiance, in defiance of a power before which Europe 
trembled. In the recent conflict she had not dis- 
honoured her old renown. Though foremost in the 
race of revolution, she had been the last to renounce 
her allegiance; and in this, her resolute fidelity to the 
crown, she saw a justification of her resistance to the 
usurpation of parliament, and her final renunciation of 
that relation to the king himself, to which he, by abet- 
ting that usurpation, had shown himself unfaithful. 
The men of that day did not need to be told that it was 
not on the fourth day of July, 1776, that Virginia first 
proclaimed her independence. What others then de- 
clared their purpose of doing, she had already done. It 
was on the twenty-ninth of the preceding month, that 
she, by her own separate act, completed the organi- 
zation of her own separate government, and, taking her 
independent stand among the nations of the earth, put 
in operation that constitution under which we were 
born. No, gentlemen ! the sons of Virginia in that day 
needed not that this proud chapter in her history should 
be read to them. In that day they looked not abroad 
for topics of exultation and themes of praise. Virginia 
had not then forgotten to claim the first of men as pe- 
culiarly her own. The voice of her Henry still sounded 



369 

in her ears. The wisdom of her Mason still guided 
her councils. The rising splendour of her Jefferson 
still shone for her alone, and along her vallies the last 
dying echoes of the cannon of Yorktown still rever- 
berated. Look where she might, what was there of 
wisdom and greatness and virtue, in the history of man, 
to which her own annals might not furnish a parallel ? 
How poor in comparison the boast of England's poetic 
moralist, ' 

"That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, 
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own." 

Was this an unwholesome and distempered pride? 
Ask jour own hearts! Ask the history of Virginia, 
while cherishing these hallowed recollections, her sons, 
emulous of the example of their fathers, secured to 
her — not by numbers — not by wealth; but by intel- 
lectual pre-eminence — by moral worth — by magnani- 
mous and self-renouncing devotion to the common 
weal — the first place in this vast confederacy! 

But, gentlemen, with the wisdom or folly of these 
feelings we have nothing now to do. Whether for 
good or ill, they have had their day. They have done 
their work, and their place is now among the things 
that are past. It is no longer in our choice to revive 
them if we would. They are gone — forever. 

But these sentiments, gentlemen, were among the 
elements with which the framers of our institutions had 
to do. In these they saw a principle of repulsion 
between the states, against which they deemed it ne- 
cessary to provide. Tn doing this, they aid not miscal- 
culate the energy of this principle of state pride. They 
only mistook iFs duration. They did not deem it pos- 
sible that the time should ever come, when, in the eyes 
of her own sons, Virginia in herself should be nothing; 
when the memory of her glorious deeds should be for- 
gotten, and their anniversaries pass by unheeded: when 
her own proud banner should no longer float above her 
capitol; and when all her pride of sovereignty and in- 
dependence should be habitually derided as the apery 






370 

of children, doing the honour of the baby-house, and 
mimicking the airs of men and women. 

These things may be foolish; t?ut they were follies 
for which wise men made allowance. Their existence 
was taken into the account, and the balance of power 
was adjusted to them. They thus become an essential 
element in the constitution itself. They are like the 
follies and weaknesses and passions of man, which are 
a part of his nature, and to which God himself conforms 
and adapts his laws. They are as the centrifugal force 
in the planetary system, which, duly restrained by a 
counterpoilent energy, preserves the order of the uni- 
verse, and without which, all must tumble into shapeless 
ruin. 

Is it not then our duty to cherish them ? Do we not 
owe it to ourselves and our children, as well as to our 
ancestors, to cherish the memory of their virtues, and 
their noble deeds; to keep fresh in our minds the re- 
collection of all that is glorious in the history of Vir- 
ginia; to fan the flame of state pride in. our hearts; to 
keep her independence and sovereignty ever present to 
our thoughts; to habituate ourselves not only to regard 
her as one of the bright stars of our federal constella- 
tion, but as, in and of herself, a sun, sole and self- 
poised in the firmament of the commonwealth of nations? 

And shall they who cherish these sentiments, be de- 
nounced as hostile "to the union of these states ? Trust 
me, gentlemen, it is by these alone that the union itself 
can be preserved. It is by these alone that union can 
be prevented from degenerating into one vast consoli- 
dated despotism. There, as over the wide expanse of 
the Russian empire, the genius of arbitrary sway shall 
brood, until the free spirit of our Anglo-Saxon race 
shall burst its bonds, and, by forcible disruption, tear 
asunder the whole incongruous mass, and cover this 
continent, like that of Europe, with the ruins of a 
mighty empire, broken up into kingdoms and states, 
implacable in mutual hate, embittered by the memory of 
former ties. 

I repeat it, gentlemen; if we would avoid this fear- 
ful consummation, we must strive to renew in our 



371 

minds the same sentiments which once made Virginia 
glorious, and which made her glory precious to her sons. 
And said I, that this attempt would now be vain? 
That the spirit of our fathers was no more among us, 
but gone, with their achievements, to the history of the 
past? O! gentlemen, can this be so? Can you look 
thus coldly on that past? Can we, in fancy, summon 
from the tomb the forms of the mighty dead, and shall 
not our hearts be kindled, and shall not our spirits burn 
within us, to emulate those who acted and suffered, 
that we might be free, honoured and prosperous? 
Where do we find the brave in war, the wise in council, 
and the eloquent in debate, and Virginia's sons are not 
among the foremost ? Are not the names of Washing- 
ton and Henry, and Jefferson and Madison, and Mar- 
shall and Randolph, all her property? Are not these 
her jewels; and shall she, unlike the mother of the 
Gracchi, pine, because others may outshine her in such 
baubles as mere gold can buy? Can you consent to 
throw these honours into common stock, and to share 
your portion in Washington with the French of Louisi- 
ana, and the Dutch of New York, and the renegades 
from every corner of the earth, who swarm their great 
commercial cities, and call themselves your country- 
men and his ! What fellowship have we with those 
who change their country with their climate? The 
Virginian is a Virginian everywhere. In the wilds of 
the west, on the sands of Florida, on the shores of the 
Pacific — everywhere his heart turns to Virginia — every- 
where he worships with his face toward the temple of 
freedom erected here. To us, who remain, it belongs 
to minister at the altar — to feed the flame— and, if need 
be, to supply the sacrifice. Do this, and Virginia will 
again be recognised as the mother of nations; as the 
guide and exemplar of the states that have sprung from 
her bosom, and been nourished by her substance. False 
to herself, and to the honour of the common origin, 
these will desert and spurn her. True to the memory 
of the illustrious dead, true to her old renown, her 
sons, from every realm, shall flock to her as to their 



372 

tower of strength, and, in her hour of trial, if that hour 
shall come, shall stand around her^nd guard her like 
a wall of tire. 



LECTURE XIX. 

A Discourse on the Questions "What is the Seat of 
Sovereignty in the United States, and ivhat the Rela- 
tion of the People of those States to the Federal and 
State Governments respectively?' 

Gentlemen: When I accepted the courtesy which 
invited me to lay before you my thoughts on such sub- 
ject as I might select, it became my duty to fix on one 
not unworthy of the occasion. I owed it to you to 
choose a theme the bare announcement of which might 
awaken important reflections in your minds, and thus 
supply those deficiencies in myself, which it may, at the 
same time, render more conspicuous. It happens for- 
tunately that the nature of our institutions suggest in- 
numerable topics of this character; and the page of our 
history is resplendent with events worthy to be com- 
memorated in loftier strains and to be illustrated by 
profounder reflections than any which I can offer. 

This day, gentlemen, is the anniversary of such an 
event. Sixty-three years have now rolled away since, 
in the ancient capital of Virginia, a d#ed was done 
worthy to live forever in the memory and in the hearts 
of Virginia's sons. Yet may I not ask, without offence, 
how many of those who hear these words are aware of 
the event to which they allude ? How many are aware 
that this day is at all distinguishable from other days, 
when the sun, in his progress round the earth, looks 
everywhere on the same events, monstrous indeed when 
^contemplated singly, but, to the eye that beholds all 
things, stale and monotonous in their ever recurring 
atrocity ? In one region indeed he views a scene, 
where despotism, with his iron grasp, crushes the hearts 



373 

and hopes of prostrate nations. In another the infu- 
riate shout of lawless anarchy rises from tumultuous mil- 
lions just escaped from chains, wreaking their hoarded 
vengeance on the heads of tyrants, and then turning 
their thirsty weapons on each other's hearts. In these 
two extremes is a summary of the every-day history of 
man. Here the dull ox bears not more tamely the mas- 
ter's yoke, than he submits to the exactions, the ca- 
prices, the atrocious cruelties of tyranny. There, the 
tiger roars not for his prey with more eager ferocity 
than that which whets his sword against his brother's 
life, and proclaims "war to the knife," against him who 
hung with him at the same breast. 

How refreshing, how consoling to the jaded spirit, to 
turn from the contemplation of scenes like these, to the 
calm, yet grand and imposing spectacle of a people but 
just emancipated from a degrading thraldom, and, in 
sober wisdom and quiet dignity, addressing themselves, 
as to the performance of a sacred duty, to the solemn 
and responsible task of Self Government! 

That spectacle, on this day sixty-three years, Virginia 
exhibited to the world, and the memory of that majestic 
scene it is now my task to rescue from oblivion. It was 
on that day that she renounced her colonial dependence 
on Great Britain, and separated herself forever from 
that kingdom. Then it was, that, bursting the manacles 
of a foreign tyranny, she, in the same moment, imposed 
upon herself the salutary restraints of law and order. 
In that moment she commenced the work of forming a 
government complete within itself; and, having per- 
fected that work, she, on the 29th of June, in the same 
year, performed the highest function of independent 
sovereignty, by adopting, ordaining and establishing the 
constitution under which all of us were born. Then it 
was that, sufficient to herself for all the purposes of 
government, she prescribed that oath of fealty and al- 
legiance to her sole and separate sovereignty, which all 
of us, who have held any office under her authority have 
solemnly called upon the searcher of hearts to witness 
and record. In that hour, gentlemen, it could not be 
certainly known, that the other colonies would take the 
32 



374 

same decisive step. It was indeed expected. In the 
same breath in which she declared her own indepen- 
dence, Virginia had advised it. She had instructed her 
delegates in the general congress to urge it; and it was 
by the voice of one of her sons, whose name will ever 
proudly live in her history, that the word of power was 
spoken, at which the chain that bound the colonies to 
the parent kingdom fell asunder "as flax that severs at 
the touch of fire." But even then, and while the terms 
of the general declaration of independence were yet 
unsettled, her's had already gone forth. The voice of 
her defiance was already ringing in the tyrant's ears, 
her's was the cry that summoned him to the strife, her's 
was the shout that invited his vengeance. 

"Me! me! Adsum qui feci. In me convertite fcrrum." 

I am persuaded, gentlemen, that I should disappoint 
your just wishes, should I permit myself to be led away 
by this glorious theme into a declamatory celebration 
of this important event. It becomes me to suppose, 
that, in inviting me to appear before you, you expected 
that I should submit to you sober thoughts upon some 
subject of deep practical and enduring interest. I was 
bound to suppose that you wished me to select a topic 
illustrative of some important point in the institutions 
of our country. It was under this impression that I 
fixed on this day, not as a theme for schoolboy decla- 
mation, but as a text for remarks, which I trust may be 
thought not unworthy of serious and solemn meditation. 

I will not weary you by laying before you-the record 
of the transaction to which I have adverted. Enough 
has been said to show that Virginia, on that occasion, 
standing in her own place, and in her own strength, 
performed for herself the highest and most unequivocal 
act of absolute and independent sovereignty. She then 
affirmed in herself the right of self-government; she 
then took upon herself the task of self-government. In 
that day she commenced the work of framing for her- 
self a constitution, under which all the powers of go- 
vernment were to be exercised by the ministers of her 
sole and sovereign will. In that day she severed her 



375 

people from all connection with any other power, from 
all subjection or responsibility to any authority on earth 
but her own. Her right to do this was indeed contested 
by the only country having an interest in disputing it; 
but the contest was finally relinquished. By the treaty 
of peace the sovereignty thus claimed was distinctly 
recognised by England, and, through her, by all the 
world. Thus, by the common consent of all mankind 
was Virginia established in the character of a free, 
sovereign and independent state — in the indefinite right 
to govern her people, to control and direct their con- 
duct in all things, to hold them responsible to her for all 
their acts, and irresponsible to all the world besides. 

In the contemplation of this remarkable event, ques- 
tions present themselves to the mind, which will de- 
serve our most serious thoughts. Virginia then affirmed 
her sovereignty, and it has since been recognised by all 
the world. But what is that which was thus affirmed 
and thus recognised ? What is sovereignty; and what 
is the seat of that sovereignty among us ? 

I shall not trouble you, gentlemen, with a formal 
definition of the word. I am afraid I could offer none 
which should assign it a palpable and efficient meaning 
at which some who affect to stickle for the sovereignty 
of Virginia would not impatiently cavil. Yet even at 
the hands of such I will accept what shall serve me as 
a definition. 

Define it as we may, none will deny, that where all 
power rightfully is, there must be sovereignty. And 
where is that ? I give the answer from an authority that 
none can question. I give it in the language of that 
bill of rights which was intended to guard from mis- 
construction and abuse the powers which Virginia was 
about to confer on .her own public functionaries. Its 
promulgation was immediately consequent on the de- 
claration of her independence, and immediately pre- 
ceded the adoption of the constitution. The three may 
be considered as simultaneous, and each may be taken 
as illustrating and explaining the other two. In that 
instrument it is declared, "that allpower is vested in, 
and consequently derived from the people; that magis- 



376 

trates are their trustees and servants, and at all times 
amenable to them." Whose words are these? I 
answer that the bill of rights, in which they are found, 
was adopted nemine contradicente in the same conven- 
tion which ordained and established the constitution. 
They are then the unanimous voice of the people of 
Virginia, proclaimed by the lips of those, who, clothed 
with all the authority then recognised within her bor- 
ders, thus declared that they held it as the trustees and 
servants of the people. They are the concurrent decla- 
tion of all concerned, both rulers and people, that to 
the latter all power rightfully belongs, and that the 
former are but their servants. 

Of what people were these words spoken ? Of the 
people of the ancient colony of Virginia, then in the act 
of establishing itself a free, sovereign and independent 
state. There was none other of whom they could be 
spoken. To that hour the yoke of colonial vassalage 
still rested on the necks of all the other North Ameri- 
can colonies. As yet there was no political union be- 
tween Virginia and the rest, nor was there any thing 
to draw or compel them to each other, but a common 
danger, and a common enemy. They were indeed in- 
vited and expected to follow the lead of Virginia. So 
too was Canada; and there was not one of them, which, 
like Canada, might not have identified herself with the 
common enemy, by shrinking from that decisive step of 
which Virginia had just set the example. 

What then do we learn from these words ? Do they 
not teach us that governments are but' creatures, and 
the people the creator? that they, whom we familiarly 
call rulers, are but servants, and that the people are 
their master ? that sovereignty cannot be rightfully 
predicated of government, the creature, or of magis- 
trates the servants, but that it inheres, and must forever 
rightfully inhere in the people, the creator and master. 

If this admits of any doubt, that doubt must vanish 
when we read in the same instrument the farther decla- 
ration, "that whenever any government shall be found 
inadequate or contrary to the happiness and safety of 
the people, a majority of the community hath an indu- 



377 

bitable, unalienable and indefeasible right to reform, 
alter, or abolish it, in such manner as shall be judged 
most conducive to the common weal." 

Gentlemen — in other countries men may speculate 
on the theory of the social compact. Here is the thing 
itself, in written and palpable form. In these words, 
thus promulgated, we find an authority for affirming 
their truth. As far as we are concerned they are true, 
because thus declared to be so. Elsewhere the authority 
of government may not be the result of universal con- 
sent, and men may elsewhere be governed by laws 
enacted by those whose behests they have never agreed 
to obey. Not so here. Here is the unanimous act of all 
concerned ; the unanimous consent of all to live in 
obedience and fealty to Virginia, under any form of go- 
vernment that a majority of her people may prescribe 
to the rest, so long as it may be so prescribed, and no 
longer. If there be any lawful' sovereignty on earth; 
if anywhere the authority of men to bind their fellows 
can be traced to a legitimate source, it is here. 

May I not then safely affirm, that on the day when 
these memorable words were spoken, Virginia was a 
sovereign state; that her sovereignty resided in the col- 
lective body of the people, and that in that people was 
the seat of all power? May I not affirm, that nothing 
then done can be rightfully so construed as at all to 
derogate from this paramount supremacy thus distinctly 
asserted ? May I not go farther and affirm, in virtue of 
this fundamental principle of our social compact, that 
nothing done then or since, and nothing to be done 
hereafter, can have the effect of disparaging or impair- 
ing the sovereign right here pronounced to be unalien- 
able and indefeasible, but by the utter dissolution of the 
society in which it is declared to inhere ? Virginia 
may dissolve her ancient incorporation; her people may 
disband, or amalgamate themselves, by a sort of politi- 
cal fusion, with another community, but here stand the 
original terms of our association, that so long as she 
retains her individuality, so long will the right of a ma- 
jority of her people to reform, alter, or abolish any form 
of government that thev have adopted, or may adopt, 
32* 



378 

remain indubitable, unalienable, indefeasible. Are we 
not at least bound to understand these words as quali- 
fying and explaining every delegation of power made 
by the constitution about to be adopted ? Are they not 
an admonition to those, whom, in conformity to the 
jargon of courts, we call our rulers, that they are our 
servants still— that their powers, however great, are 
not their own, but ours, exerted through them, our in- 
struments % 

I beg you to observe, gentlemen, that the answer to 
these questions is not to be affected by the degree of 
power thus conferred, or the forms used in designating 
and appointing those who are to exercise it. Remove 
all the restrictions of the constitution on the powers of 
government; obliterate every prohibition; surrender the 
freedom of religion, of speech, and of the press; abolish 
popular election, and let the title to office be conferred 
by lot or birth, for one year or for life; it will make no 
difference. The rights of the people will be less secure, 
but not less unquestionable. The ultimate sovereignty 
may be not so easily exerted, but it will be no less sa- 
cred. As long as the words of the people are sounding 
in the ears of magistrates; as long as they are admon- 
ished in the very charter of their authority, that their 
powers are but delegated, and may be resumed; that 
the constitution is but the creature of the people, and 
may be by them abolished; and that they themselves 
are servants, not masters; so lpng must it be confessed 
that the seat of sovereignty is in the people. "Be ye 
sure," saith the Psalmist, "that the Lord he is God. It 
is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves." "God 
spake once. Yea, twice have I heard the same. Power 
belongeth unto God." "He can create, and he destroy," 
and he "is God alone." Gentlemen, I mean nothing -pro- 
fane. But such is the relation in which the people 
stand to the political existence of their governments; 
and such is the language, modified to the nature of the 
case, which it becomes magistrates to apply to their 
creator, the master of their life, the people. 

But, gentlemen, it is not my purpose to magnify this 
sovereignty of the people. It is not from my lips that 



379 

even to this hallowed name shall be addressed that flat- 
tery which all sovereigns delight to hear. My only 
object is to disabuse the minds of those who are in the 
habit of imputing sovereignty to governments. The 
error is so natural that it is almost universal. In other 
countries it may not be error. There may perhaps be 
nations, where, by the consent of all concerned, sove- 
reignty resides somewhere else than in the people. I 
do not know that the case is possible; but if it be, that 
is their concern, not ours. But, unfortunately, our lips 
are familiar with forms of speech more suited to foreign 
institutions than our own. We are taught to associate, 
in our minds^the idea of sovereignty with the trappings 
of royalty; and we look at least for the insignia of ac- 
tive power— the axe, the fasces, and the lictors. It de- 
mands an effort of thought and imagination for which 
we are illy prepared, to look beyond the veil, to the 
presiding spirit of the temple, that sanctifies the priest, 
the altar, and the sacrifice. Like him who spoke to 
Moses on the mount, it has no bodily presence by which 
we can identify it. It is an object of contemplation to 
the mind alone. The moral and intellectual faculty 
alone can comprehend it. What is that object ? It is 
the common mind, made up of the collective intelligence 
and experience and virtue, and alike of the prejudices, 
passions and infirmities of a great multitude, bound 
together in one great permanent copartnership of gene- 
ration with generation; of the living with the dead, and 
with those who are yet unborn; in which the wisdom 
of each is the -wisdom of all; the strength of each the 
strength of all; and the wants and weaknesses of each 
alike the care of all. He must have a very imperfect 
perception of this object, who does not discover in it 
something to be approached with reverence and awe. 
The idea of a common will pervading such a multitude, 
and acting with a power so overwhelming, is august 
and imposing. The sense of moral dignity must be 
perverted and corrupt in that man, who does not feel 
that it is the more august, the more imposing, because 
withdrawn from vulgar gaze; "circling its throne with 
the majesty of darkness," it reposes quietly within the 



380 

sanctuary; while they who strut the busy stage of life, 
and dazzle men's eyes with the trappings of authority, 
are but its servants, "the ministers of its will, to do its 
pleasure." 

With us, at least then, gentlemen, government is not 
sovereign. And this is the truth with which I am 
mainly anxious- to impress you. If there be no sove- 
reignty in government, we owe*it no allegiance. That 
sentiment; that subordination of the heart; that devo- 
tion of spirit, which accounts the surrender of life itself 
a cheap sacrifice, is due alone to that collective whole, 
of which we ourselves are part. 

But is there then no sovereignty in that%reat central 
government, which, Colossus-like, bestrides the conti- 
nent, and beneath which the states are sometimes in- 
vited to seek shelter for their violated rights and insulted 
dignity ? Can there be so much active power, and yet 
no sovereignty ? Can the thing so huge be yet a crea- 
ture ? 

Yes, gentlemen. That central government itself is 
but "the Leviathan of all the creatures of the people's 
will. Huge as it is, and while it 'lies floating many a 
rood,' it is still a creature. Its ribs, its fins, its whale- 
bone, its blubber, the very spiracles through which it 
spouts its torrents of brine against the author of its 
existence, every thing of it and about it is from the 
people." 

In proclaiming that ratification of the federal consti- 
tution, from which it derives all its authority over her 
citizens, Virginia again accompanied this new delega- 
tion of power with the same emphatic declaration, "that 
all power is naturally vested in, and consequently de- 
rived from the people; that magistrates, therefore, are 
their trustees and agents, and at all times amenable to 
them." In the very act of ratification itself, she again 
declares, "that the powers granted under the constitu- 
tion, being derived from the people of the United States, 
may be resumed by them, whensoever the same. shall 
be perverted to their injury or oppression." 

Was I right, when I just now inferred from the use 
of such language as coupled with the delegation of 



381 

power to the functionaries of the state governments, 
that by that delegation the sovereignty of the people 
was in no wise surrendered or impaired ? And shall I 
be wrong when I draw the like inference now? Is the 
sovereign right of the people to annihilate the work of 
their hands, to recall the powers they have granted, to 
abolish the government they have established, the less 
sacred, the less unquestionable, because the exercise of 
the right might be attended with greater difficulty in 
the latter case than in the former ? 

I foresee that many will be reluctant to give to these 
questions the only answer they admit of. Their demo- 
cracy is content to exercise itself in domineering over 
the poor, limited and feeble state government, which 
meekly recognises its responsibility and dependence on 
the people for its existence, and which is not provided 
with the means to purchase favour, or to overawe dis- 
affection. At Washington things wear a different face; 
and men require double conviction before they will 
consent to adopt opinions which may not find favour in 
the eyes of those who dispense honours to which the 
loftiest ambition may aspire, and distribute revenues 
that might glut the rapacity of avarice. Such gentle- 
men will tell me, that though sovereignty is not to be 
imputed to the government of the United States, yet it 
resides in an imaginary body politic which they call the 
people of the United States. 

To this, I answer at once, there is no such body po- 
litic, and no such people. In proof of the first of these 
assertions, I appeal to the record. The journal of the 
convention, by which the constitution was framed and 
submitted to the states, respectively, shows that it was 
proposed in that assembly to constitute the United 
States a body politic, endowed with the powers appro- 
priate to that character; and that this proposition was 
either rejected or withdrawn by the proposer as inad- 
missible. There is then no such body politic as the 
United States, and therefore there can be no such peo- 
ple as the people of the United States. The idea of a 
people is not that of a mere multitude of men. It is 
that of men so associated as to form a body politic. 



382 

Where there is no body politic there is no people; and 
though a number of bodies politic may associate their 
combined authority and force, for the accomplishment 
of any common purpose, the several bodies politic thus 
associated, do but form a league, each retaining its 
several and distinct political individuality, without con- 
stituting a new body politic compounded of the whole. 

But 1 do not choose to rest this proposition on an 
argument, which may seem too technical for the magni- 
tude of the subject. I shall be the last to contend that 
the great and essential rights of men are to be deter- 
mined by the niceties of special pleading. It is to the 
test of practical consequence that I propose to bring 
the question. 

If the inhabitants of these United States have indeed 
undergone that sort of political fusion, by which states 
are melted down into one aggregate body politic, then 
in that body politic reside all the rights and powers in- 
cident to that character. A body politic owes not its 
authority to the government by which it is pleased to 
act, nor to the constitution establishing that govern- 
ment. These are but its creatures, and instruments. 
It is paramount to both, and its existence and powers 
will survive the abolition of both. We are all familiar 
with the recent instance in. which the commonwealth of 
Virginia, no longer satisfied with the constitution first 
adopted, no longer willing to have its authority repre- 
sented by the functionaries appointed under that con- 
stitution, came forward on the stage, and, by one word 
of power, annihilated both. But was the common- 
wealth of Virginia annihilated ? Was the arm of her 
authority shortened ? W r as the right of the collective 
whole to give law to itself in all its parts at all im- 
paired ? Just the reverse of this was the fact. The 
limited authority of the agent was exchanged for the 
unlimited authority of the master. A government of 
mitigated and restricted powers had disappeared, and 
we found ourselves in the presence of an authority in- 
definite — boundless — to which all things were lawful. 
Then it was that the absurdity of imputing sovereignty 
to governments was indeed, made manifest. That beg- 



3S3 

gariy counterfeit sovereignty vanished like the detected 
valet at the appearance of the master whose clothes he 
had stolen, and whose name he had assumed. That 
which before had seemed the source of authority, was 
now found to be its instrument. That which before had 
seemed the fountain of light and heat, now proved to 
have been but a screen to soften the intensity of its 
rays. It was removed, and we stood at once in the un- 
mitigated blaze of a sovereign power, to which none 
might say, "what doest thou r" From the government 
existing under the constitution, men were safe in life 
and liberty, and property, save only their responsibility 
for crimes previously defined and known. The rights 
of conscience, the right to bear arms, the privilege of 
speech and of the press, all were safe. Bills of attainder, 
ex post facto laws, and laws invading vested rights had 
not been within the competency of that government. 
But the power which abolished it, and took its place, 
acknowledged no such restrictions. Supreme in all 
things, its will was law, without responsibility and 
without appeal. 

Such was the effect of the abolition of the constitu- 
tion of Virginia. What was it but the removal of an 
incumbrance, not unaptly likened to the frail covering 
of clay that binds down to earth the indestructible spirit 
of man. Strip off that worthless husk. Take away 
the organs of sense, through which as through loop- 
holes we look out dimly on the objects that surround 
us. What then! The soul needs them not. All eye, 
all ear, all nerve, it sees, and hears, and feels alike in 
every part. 

Just so of the sovereignty of the people, when, by 
the abolition of constitutions and governments, it frees 
itself from self-imposed restraints. It doffs aside the 
puny agency of magistrates, executive, legislative and 
judicial; and stands confessed in unclouded majesty, 
sufficient for itself in all things, combining and exer- 
cising all powers and all functions. 

Gentlemen; if there be such a people, and such a 
body politic as the people of the United States, even 
such must be the effect of the abolition of the constitu- 






384 

tion of the United States. But is any one prepared to 
admit this ? Do they err who suppose that the aboli- 
tion of that constitution, and the revocation of the 
powers delegated by the states, would but reinstate the 
states themselves in the exercise of those powers ? Are 
we to be told, that instead of this, the abolition of that 
instrument would abolish too the constitutions of the 
states, and even the states themselves ? Are we to be- 
lieve, that as a necessary consequence of such a mea- 
sure, the ancient landmarks between the states, must 
instantly disappear ? Is the whole organized population 
of twenty-six'distinct states to sink down at once, into 
one chaotic mass, in which the discordia semina rerum, 
shall struggle for the mastery, and finally take whatever 
form a majority of the whole may choose to impose ? 
Can it be that the severance of the only tie that binds 
us to the other states, is to be followed by a necessary, 
complete and indissoluble amalgamation with them ? 

Gentlemen 5 I beg you calmly and distinctly to con- 
template the absurdity of this idea. At present, the 
only right of man of Maine, Missouri or Louisiana to 
meddle with any thing that concerns Virginia is derived 
from the constitution. By this, certain defined and 
limited powers are conferred on the common agents of 
all the states. To abolish the constitution should be to 
determine these powers. And shall we be told, that 
instead of this, the effect of such a measure must be to 
abolish, not the powers themselves, but all limitations 
on those powers. Yet this must be so, if indeed there 
be a body politic comprehending all the inhabitants of 
the United States. Whatever abuses then, whatever 
oppressions we may encounter, must be borne with 
patience, lest a worse thing befall us. We must be 
careful not to recall any authority, which, in the lan- 
guage of the ratification by Virginia, "may be perverted 
to our injury or oppression," lest, in the attempt, we do 
but make a full surrender of that and every other 
power whatever. Gentlemen; if the science of go- 
vernment admits of a reductio ad absurdwn, this is one. 
If there be any proposition, which may be proved to be 
false, by the preposterous conclusions to which it leads, 



385 

such is the proposition that affirms the sovereignty of 
the United States, or the existence of such a body 
politic or such a people. 

How then, it may be asked, are we to understand the 
language of Virginia herself, when, in ratifying the 
constitution, she declares, that "the powers granted 
under the constitution, being derived from (he people 
of the United States, may be resumed by them when- 
soever the same shall be perverted to their injury or 
oppression ? 

1 answer, that the phrase must be understood here as 
in the preamble to the constitution, not as technically 
designating a political body, but as a mere noun of 
multitude. For, I beg you to observe, gentlemen, the 
declaration is that the powers granted may be resumed 
— restored to those to whom they belonged ; not dis- 
tributed, in wide and wasteful profusion to those who 
had never yet possessed them. The states alone had 
possessed these powers as separate and distinct bodies 
politic, and they could only be resumed in the same 
character. The grant and the resumption of power 
are both predicated of the same subject. Of this sub- 
ject it is alike affirmed, that the powers under the con- 
stitution had been granted and were to be resumed 
thereby, and hence we conclude that these powers pro- 
ceeded from the same source to which they were to 
revert. That source then was the sovereignty of the 
states, and not any such body politic as the people of the 
United States, whose association would be dissolved by 
the very act which wag to restore the power to the 
hands that conferred it. So far then from giving counte- 
nance to the idea of the existence of any such body 
politic, this very language exposes the absurdity of that 
idea. It shows, that the abrogation of the constitution 
was not to be attended with the consequences which 
the existence of any such body politic would render in- 
evitable. It was not to be followed by the establish- 
ment of an absolute and unqualified supremacy in the 
collective whole, but the parts were to be reinstated in 
the exercise of all the powers and functions which they 
had delegated. 



386 

Observe then, I beseech you, gentlemen, the difference 
between the actual, though dormant sovereignty of the 
people of Virginia, and the imaginary sovereignty of the 
people of the United States. Take away the consti- 
tution of Virginia: the government is abolished, but the 
people and the commonwealth remain. The sovereignty, 
which before had slumbered while its servants watched, 
is awakened, and its authority absolute, boundless, un- 
qualified, takes the. place of the restricted functionaries 
it supersedes. But take away the constitution of the 
United States, and no such august object is disclosed. 
The people of the United States vanish. The body 
politic, if there be one, dissolves into thin air; and we 
see instead, twenty-six distinct and disconnected states, 
each under its simple republican forms, exercising its 
separate sovereignty by the same limited and responsi- 
ble agents as before. Virginia may abolish her consti- 
tution, and, by the original terms of her social part, a 
majority of her people may prescribe to the rest what 
form they will. But let the constitution of the United 
States be abolished, and the authority of the central 
government expires, and can never be restored but by 
the unanimous consent of each one of the several 
states. None would have power to bind the rest in any 
thing. 

The government then, is but the outward covering 
of the body politic — the fleshly vesture of the spirit 
within. Through this indeed it performs the functions 
of sovereignty, and, in the exercise of these functions, 
are the evidences of its living energy. And here, gen- 
tlemen, is the proof of a self-inherent power, original 
and indestructible. The state has power to lay down 
her life; and she has power to take it up again. Not 
so the Union. Let the spirit once depart from the go- 
vernment of the United States, and it sleeps in eternal 
death. The master of life — the same power which 
first created may restore it; but the act will not be the 
act of the people of the United States, acting by any 
authority in a majority, or in any other portion to bind 
the rest, but the free and voluntary act of sovereign 
and independent states completely dissociated, and 






387 

coming together again by a new league, in forming 
which each must act for herself alone. 

The occasion does not admit that I should trace out 
in detail all the results of this argument. Nor have I 
a right to weary you by conjecturing the answers and 
objections to it which will doubtless be eagerly urged 
by those who bow the knee to the Baal of federal supre- 
macy. Such will be shocked and scandalized at being 
told that their God is no God. I cannot stop to soothe 
their offended superstition; but I will take leave to say 
what must be the legitimate result of the doctrine 
which denies the sovereignty of the states, or affirms 
that of the government or people of the United States. 

If the government be sovereign, then all our ideas 
of the sovereignty of the people are erroneous. If the 
government be sovereign, then are magistrates no longer 
the servants of the people, but their masters. But, 
gentlemen, if they are our masters, it must be because 
Virginia has made them so. She once was sovereign, 
and hers was once the only voice which spoke in tones 
of authority to her children. « If her sovereignty be 
impaired, it must have been by her own act, when she 
commanded her people to render obedience to the au- 
thority of the officers of the federal government. Had 
she not done this, we should have owed them hone. 
But she commanded it, and her command was law to 
us. But what did she command ? Was it that we 
should obey them as our master and her's? No, gen- 
tlemen: she commanded us to obey them as her trus- 
tees and agents — as the ministers of her will. In the 
very act of commanding our obedience she declared 
them to be so, and as such, as persons authorized to 
speak and act in her behalf, in their appropriate spheres, 
she required us to submit to her authority represented 
by them. Over us, at least, the government of the 
United States is not sovereign. 

But the people of the United States!!! Gentlemen; 
I will admit, that if there be a body politic consisting 
of the whole population of the United States, that body 
politic is sovereign, and the sole sovereign over us. 
And not only is that body politic sovereign over us, 



388 

but it is sovereign over the government of the United 
States, consisting of its agents and servants, and over 
the constitution, its creature. What then becomes of 
the reserved rights of the states ? Of what value to us 
are all constitutional limitations on the powers of the 
central government ? Why were they imposed ? Was 
it not because Virginia did not mean to assign to any 
authority, acting on behalf of the whole Union, power 
to legislate for her people in all things? And why 
not? Was it not because it was clearly foreseen that 
such an authority, having no control but the will of the 
collective majority, must become, in the hands of that 
majority, an instrument for the plunder and oppression 
of minorities ? Has not the event proved the wisdom 
of this apprehension ? Are we not sensible, that they 
who struggle to free the government of the United 
States from the restraints of the constitution, do so 
only that they may give free scope to a system of 
plunder and oppression, of which we are to be the 
victims ? In this danger we look to the constitution as 
the safeguard of our rights. But of what value is 
that safeguard, if, after all, it is but the creature of 
that very majority against which it should protect us? 
Constitutions cannot give law to the sovereignty that 
creates and may abolish them. They are but the in- 
struments by which the sovereignty makes known and 
enforces its will; instruments that the sovereignty may 
at any moment cast away, if unsuited to its purposes. 

Gentlemen — if the ideas I have presented are not 
utterly false, they should lead you to perceive, that 
they who talk to you of divided sovereignty, talk of 
that which is absurd and can have no existence. There 
can be but one Supreme. There is no god but God. 
The officers of the federal and state governments, said 
Mr. Madison, in his exposition of the constitution, are 
alike the agents of the people of the several states; the 
one set acting in the name, and for the behoof of one 
state alone, the other acting for all alike. The state 
acts through both, surrendering nothing of its sove- 
reignty to either, but delegating an authority to exer- 



389 

cise some of the functions of sovereignty to one set, 
some to the other. 

Gentlemen — in this view of the subject I see nothing 
but harmony and consistency; and in this view 1 see 
the only security for our covenanted rights. The con- 
clusion to which it conducts is rational and safe. It 
shows the sovereignty, which the states once possessed, 
and which they never have surrendered in terms, still 
abiding in them; and it establishes you in the comfort- 
able assurance, that your relation to the federal and 
state governments alike is that of a master to servants; 
not that of servants to a master. 

But I may perhaps be asked, why I urge, with so 
much earnestness, what no one denies. Who among 
us questious the sovereignty of Virginia, that I should 
argue it as if it were disputed ? I admit, gentlemen, 
that it has not been my fortune to meet with any one 
among us disposed to deny it. But while it is thus 
universally admitted, I have been concerned to see that 
men seem strangely afraid to affix any distinct mean- 
ing to the word. 1 am doubtful whether, in the mouths 
of most men, it stands for any thing more than a mere 
vague compliment paid in the same spirit in which the 
subject of a king imputes majesty to the crowned pup- 
pet that he despises. A sovereign should command the 
fear and love, the respect and reverence of his subjects. 
Their allegiance should be an affair of the heart, not 
mere lip service. His personal qualities indeed may 
render this impossible; but to a people, owning no 
other sovereign, such qualities certainly cannot be im- 
puted by themselves. Every citizen of a sovereign 
state should be expected to recognise in that state an 
object at once august and lovely, before which all that 
is evil in man should stand rebuked, and to which all 
the better affections of the heart should cling with hum- 
ble but proud devotion. And is it thus that the citi- 
zens of Virginia are affected to her at this day? Tt 
should be so. The memory of her old renown is still 
our inheritance. The men who made her name illus- 
trious in the annals of the world are still remembered 
as her sons. She is still the mother of heroes and the 



390 

nurse of statesmen; and the same simple integrity and 
self-renouncing devotion to the right, which once dis- 
tinguished her, are still her characteristics. She is 
still the mistress of our acts, the protectress of our 
lives and fortunes, the guardian of all our rights, the 
sanctuary of our honour. What has happened, that 
so few hearts are animated by the sentiments appropri- 
ate to this relation? Why is it that so few regard her 
with the eye of reverential love, 

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty: 

But rather drowse, and hang their eye-lids down, 

Sleep in her face, and render such aspect, 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries'? 

W'hy is it that her own proud banner no longer floats 
from her capitol? Why is it, that, with a name to live, 
her sovereignty is as though it were dead? Why, that 
while none among us deny it, none find pride in assert- 
ing it,* none resent the denial or invasion of it by 
others? 

Do I speak of that which is not? Are not you all 
sensible that these things are so? And why? Is it 
that she has stripped herself of the means of reward- 
ing her children's love? Is it that the honours that 
tempt ambition are bestowed by functionaries who act 
on behalf of other states as well as her? Is it that the 
revenues td which the mercenary zeal of avarice looks 
for its reward, have been poured into the common 
treasury of the Union? Alas! yes. The simple badges 
of distinction won in her service, the laurel garland 
and the oaken wreath, have lost their charm. There 
is now no value but in gilded honours; no majesty in a 
diadem that does not glitter; no authority in any sceptre 
not of gold. Thus it is that no man cries "God bless 
her!" and thus it is that they who speak of her sove- 
reignty as any tiling but a name, provoke the rage of 
such as "do but crook the hinges of the knee, where 
thrift may follow fawning." 

How else is it, that over a transaction like that of 
which this day reminds us, the sable pall of oblivion 
has already fallen? How is it that the memory of such 



391 

an event lias perished from our minds? What pilgrim 
visits the spot consecrated by that glorious act? What 
monument marks it to the eye? Alas! "The fire has 
resounded in its halls, and the voice of the people is 
heard no more." None summons the sons of Virginia 
to "build the walls of her political Zion." None 
"takes pleasure in her stones." The scene of so many 
hallowing recollections is waste and desecrated ; 

"While Desolation, on the grass grown streets, 
Expands her raven-wing; and up the wall 
Where senates once the price of monarchs doomed, 
Hisses the gliding snake, through hoary weeds 
That clothe the mouldering ruin." 

Are we then indifferent to the blessings which that 
event bought with it? Have the rights then asserted 
lost their value in our estimation? Are the principles 
then proclaimed, and consecrated by the blood of our 
fathers, no longer sacred to our hearts? Have we lost 
that honest pride with which men cherish the glories of 
their ancestors; and have our minds, impatient of the 
debt of gratitude, hastened to shake off the memory of 
obligations to the men of that day, which can never be 
cancelled? 

No, gentlemen; such is not the temper of this people. 
The men of that day liye, and, I trust, will live for- 
ever, in the hearts of their descendants. We cherish 
them as the founders of our free institutions, and the 
champions of our rights. We venerate them as our 
instructors in the science of self-government, and our 
great exemplars in all its arduous duties. We boast 
of them as the bold defenders of the rights of an infant 
people, against the power of the most formidable nation 
upon earth. Not a year passes over that the fourth of 
July is not hailed as the birth day of American Inde- 
pendence. Never does the sun rise on that day, that 
his advent is not welcomed with the roar of artillery, 
while the sound of jubilee rises up in grand and har- 
monious accord from the lips and hearts of grateful 
millions. Never does it pass, that the hymn of grate- 
ful praise, the choral song, the voice of eulogy, does 



392 

not ring through the land, celebrating the glories of the 
illustrious men who acted, and suffered, and triumphed 
in the scenes which the return of that day recalls. 
And well may this be so. The annals of mankind may 
be searched in vain for examples more illustrious of 
virtue, wisdom and ability. Above all, we contemplate, 
with admiring wonder, the intrepid boldness, the self- 
devoted magnanimity, which manned the hearts of 
thirteen feeble, disunited colonies to defy a power ac- 
customed to give law to Europe. We remember, that 
of their own strength they as yet had no experience. 
Their sufficiency had seemed ail derived from her. 
And now the sword which had so long flamed before 
them, guarding, like that of the angel of the Lord, 
their forest paradise, was to be turned against them. 
Without armies, without navies, without revenue, with- 
out resources of any kind, but such as a good cause, a 
clear conscience, a strong will, and a firm reliance on 
Providence, suggest to impotence itself, they stood, 
like the son of Jesse, confronted with the mailed 
and giant form before which the stoutest hearts had 
quailed. Like him indeed they were not unfamiliar 
with the taste of danger. Like him they had grappled 
successfully with a savage foe, and learned that the 
path to safety often leads through the midst of peril. 
The red man of the forest had been to them the lion 
and the bear; and they had learned to trust for their 
defence against this new enemy, in the same gracious 
power who had delivered them from their former foes. 

Of such noble confidence glorious success is the ap- 
propriate fruit. To this the instincts of our nature 
teach the heart to give its highest admiration, and thus 
instructed, we learn that boldness in extremity of dan- 
ger is the part of prudence. 

This wise, and just, and salutary sentiment is nobly 
taught in the example before us. Whenever we shall 
learn to look on it with that cool and calculating and 
self-seeking wisdom, which measures the strength of 
the adversary we should defy, and balances conse- 
quences and counts the cost of any struggle in defence 
of our rights, our freedom will be well nigh gone. 



393 

Thus it is, that in celebrating the virtues and achieve*- 
ments of our ancestors, we perform a duty, not only 
to the illustrious dead, but to ourselves and our pos- 
terity. It is a duty which brings its own reward in its 
chastening, purifying, and humbling, yet elevating and 
ennobling influence on our hearts. It teaches us to 
prize our rights at the full value of the sacrifice they 
cost: it renews the love of liberty in our bosoms; and, 
above all, we are encouraged to feel, that all obstacles 
to success in a good cause must go clown before the 
concentred energy of a people resolved to live free or 
die. 

Such, gentlemen, is the lesson taught us by the his- 
tory of our revolutionary struggle, and well does it 
deserve that we should keep it fresh in our memories 
and warm in our hearts. By no passage in that his- 
tory is this lesson so strikingly inculcated, as in that 
which records the event of which this day reminds us. 
Was it glorious for the congress of the United States, 
that on the fourth day of July, 1776, they adopted the 
bold and hazardous resolve which established their in- 
dependence? Was it glorious that the representatives 
of three millions of people, new to the tasks of govern- 
ment, unprovided with the organization, the imple- 
ments, and the resources of war, thus naked and. de- 
fenceless, dared defy the wrath of a nation armed to 
the teeth in all the panoply of war; a nation whose 
power encircled the globe; whose flag floated over 
every sea; whose arms had triumphed on every shore, 
and whose coffers overflowed with contributions from 
the commerce of the whole earth? Was this an act to 
be remembered with wonder, and with grateful praise 
by us? Was this an act which should fill our hearts 
with pride while we trace our descent from its illus- 
trious authors? Oh, yes! And happy he, who, on the 
records of that day, can point to some time-honoured 
name, and say, "Thus my father spoke, and thus he 
acted; here he fought, and here he fell." 

What then, gentlemen, should be our pride of heart 
in remembering, that it was not on the 4th of July, 
1776, but on the 15th of May in the same year; not 



394 

by the concurrent voice of three millions of people, but 
by that of one-fifth of that number; not by the unani- 
mous resolve of thirteen colonies, but by her own sole 
and separate act, that Virginia took her independent 
stand among the nations of the earth. 

We do injustice to the dignity of this theme, we do 
wrong to our fathers and to ourselves, when we permit 
the memory of this event to fade from our minds. It 
well deserves to be remembered, and commemorated, 
not as a topic of vague and empty declamation, but as 
an occasion for sober thought, and serious self-exami- 
nation. It calls upon us, as in the presence of the 
sacred dead, to look into our own hearts, and estimate 
the value which we set at this day on the heritage pur- 
chased by the blood of our fathers. That heritage is 
the independent sovereignty of Virginia — and the in- 
quiry to which I have invited your thoughts, is to lead 
you to a just sense of its importance, and a wise choice 
of the means of preserving it. It is a question on 
which depends the value of all those charters to which 
you look as the monuments of your liberties. You owe 
it to yourselves to understand all these aright, that you 
may transmit unimpaired to your children the blessings 
which they have so far secured to you. 

No people should ever permit themselves to feel se- 
cure in the enjoyment of their rights. They are always 
in danger from some quarter. The rights of men are 
always the natural prey of the worst passions of the 
human heart, whether aspiring or base. Ambition, in 
its eagle-flight, is ever hovering over them, and ready 
at any unguarded moment, to pounce upon them. The 
serpent-guile of avarice, that creeps upon its belly, and 
eats the dust, is always seeking to invade the nest 
where all our dearest blessings lie. If we mean to 
preserve them, we must watch over them; we must 
learn to know and number them; we must study the 
tenure by which we hold them; we must qualify our- 
selves to scent afar off* the dangers that threaten them; 
to trace the serpent by his slime, and to know the eagle 
by his portentous scream. 

The rights of Virginia have been more than once in- 



395 

vaded, and the assault has always been on the same 
quarter. The device of the enemy has always been to 
question her sovereignty; to deny her right to self-go- 
vernment, and to establish a claim to hold her, (always, 
as it has been pretended, for her own good,) in a state 
of pupilage. Whether the object were to bring her 
under the dominion of a lowbred tyrant in a distant 
land, the murderer of his king, and the felon usurper 
of his country's rights; or to lay open her resources to 
the plundering rapacity of a foreign parliament, claim- 
ing the right to give what was not their own; or to 
transfer her very heart's blood, by a sort of political 
suction-pipe, to fertilize the barren shores of a neigh- 
bouring state; in each and every instance, the device 
of the adversary has been to deny and to deride her 
claim of sovereignty. Here they saw was her tower 
of strength, and all their art has been employed to 
wile her from it, and tempt her to put her trust in other 
defences, and to rely on the justice and benevolence of 
those who offered protection in the words and tones of 
friendship. Happily for her, she has been always no 
less sensible than they of the consequences of such re- 
liance, and has always, in her hour of need, sought 
safety behind the bulwark of her sovereignty. There- 
fore it is that I have been thus careful to lay bare to 
you its foundations; to remove the rubbish that con- 
ceals them, and to show that it is built upon a rock. 

Gentlemen — if I have so far succeeded in embodying 
the idea of the sovereignty of "Virginia, that it is pal- 
pable to your understandings, that your minds "can 
lay hold of it by faith" — then I say to you, "Conse- 
crate it in your hearts: establish it in the hearts of 
your children: set it up among your household gods: 
hang it out on your banners, with the true and appro- 
priate motto, In hoc signo vicimus; in hoc signo vince- 
771W5." If any man shall persuade you to exchange 
this sacred right of a people constituting a community 
within themselves, to govern themselves in all things, 
and to decide for themselves in the last resort, in all 
that pertains to their welfare, for the plighted faith of 
other communities, or for any other security under 



396 

Heaven, distrust him. He would tempt you to the 
league of the sheep with the wolf. Consent to part 
with that jealous guardian of your rights, under whose 
wakeful care you may sleep secure from all external 
danger, and every thing you can ask will be promised 
you. But put away from among you that sanction to 
your rights, vjhich unfettered and irresponsible sove- 
reignty alone affords, and you will find that all your 
covenants are but a paltering juggle, "that keeps the 
word of promise to the ear, but breaks it to the hope." 



LECTURE XX. 

The Nature and Function of the Commercial 
Profession. 

Gentlemen — There is nothing which so strikingly 
characterizes the present age, as the advance of know- 
ledge: and the consequences of that advance are such, 
as hold out inducements to the farther pursuit of know- 
ledge, which perhaps have never been duly appre- 
ciated until now. .Wise men, in all ages, have been 
sensible that knowledge is the guide of enterprise — the 
co-worker with industry — the purveyor of plenty — the 
minister of comfort — the nurse of prosperity. But this 
truth, once known only to the enlightened few, is now 
the common property of all; and all men, in every oc- 
cupation, and in every class and condition of society, 
have been made to see, that science and art have trea- 
sures in store for them too, which they have but to ex- 
plore and appropriate. More than a hundred years ago, 
Newton, in ceasing from those labours which had com- 
manded the wonder and applause of the world, sor- 
rowed to think how little he had accomplished. He 
felt that he had but conducted the enquiring mind to 
the margin of the vast ocean of knowledge, and he 
urged posterity to explore the treasures of the deep, of 
which he regarded the little that he had gathered on the 



397 

shore as comparatively worthless specimens. Of all he 
taught this was the most important truth. But this 
they overlooked or undervalued; and half a century 
passed away before they ceased to be content to amuse 
themselves, like children, with the shells and pebbles 
collected by him, as treasure enough for the world. 
Since then the human mind has been awakened by a 
new impulse; and now a thousand telescopes explore 
the sky, and penetrate the mysteries of the stars; a 
thousand geologists dig from the bowels of the earth 
new proofs of the authenticity of revelation, corrobo- 
rating the Mosaic history of the creation, and date of 
the world; a thousand chemists analyze the productions 
of nature, and trace back all her works to their first 
principles; and at last, philosophy demands a parley 
with the lawless wind and the careering cloud, that she 
may question them whence they come and whither they 
go, and publish their answer to the world. 

Who is there that derives no benefit from these re- 
searches. Science now guides the mariner over the 
trackless ocean, and conducts him home in safety, 
freighted with the productions of every land, and the 
wealth of every clime, to distribute among all the in- 
habitants of the earth, all the good things that heaven's 
bounty has scattered over its surface or buried in its 
bosom.* Science directs the hand of the artizan; science 
lightens the labour of the mechanic; she even conde- 
scends to lend her aid to the humble tasks of the menial; 
and thus labour is rendered more productive; and its 
fruits are cheapened and made accessible to all; and 
the standard of comfort is raised; and the very slave, 
reposing from his toil, finds himself surrounded by con- 
veniences, to which, in former days, the princes of the 
earth were strangers. Science clothes the barren field 
with the rich harvests of abundance; science, as by the 
touch of magic, transforms the rude material into in- 
struments of use or comfort; or into warm and rich, 
and gorgeous robes; or splendid ornaments; and, like 
the bee, that sucks honey from the most noxious plants, 
science disarms the deadly drug of its poison, and, 
elaborating from it a salubrious principle, converts it 
34 



into an instrument of life and health; achieving a 
triumph over death with the weapons of death himself. 
Science is the great benefactor of mankind; the protean 
excellence,- which assumes and accomplishes the tasks 
of every virtue. Fulfilling the gracious precept of 
divine benevolence, science feeds the hungry, and 
clothes the naked, and ministers to the sick and the 
afflicted: yea, she even counterfeits the marvels of 
miraculous beneficence, by giving sight to the blind, 
and ears to the deaf, and causing the lame man to leap 
as an hart. 

These thoughts have been suggested by the name of 
that association, at whose invitation I now appear be- 
fore you. I saw in it one of the indications of that 
march of intellectual improvement, which is the boast 
of the age we live in; and I hailed it as an institution 
happily established for the purpose of accumulating the 
means of information, and opening the sources of know- 
ledge, and especially of that knowledge which gentle- 
men engaged in commerce ought to possess. 

Gentlemen — If there be a profession, which, more 
than every other, promises rich rewards to the pursuit 
of knowledge by its members, it is that of the mer- 
chant. If there be a class of men, who have it more in 
their power than every other, to make their knowledge 
profitable to themselves, and useful to society ,*and to 
the world at large, the merchants compose that class. 
I am aware that the obvious and popular account of 
mercantile prosperity is, that it is made up of the re- 
turns of capital and the rewards of enterprise. This, 
though true, is not the whole truth; and he who rests 
content with this account of the matter, is not much in 
advance of the tyro, who only knows, that an occupa- 
tion, in which one habitually sells for two dollars what 
he has bought for one, is of course a gainful occupation. 
But, if the whole secret of the merchant's art consisted 
of such obvious truths, what should withhold any man 
from becoming a competitor for this rich profit, and how 
soon should we find the profit itself reduced to nothing 
by excess of competition r 

Gentlemen — The most precious article in the mer- 
chant's assortment is his knoivledge; and this it is that 



399 

he'combines and mixes up with all he sells; and, in the 
price that he receives for this is the great profit of his 
business. This idea, I am sensible, is new to many, 
and, in the form in which I have presented it, may, 
perhaps, be new to all who hear me. Yet I do not 
despair of being able so to explain and illustrate it, that 
its truth shall be acknowledged with pleasure and with 
pride, by those to whom I would recommend it. If, in 
doing this, I shall be so fortunate as to place the mer- 
cantile profession on higher ground than it is commonly 
supposed to occupy, and to vindicate its claim to the 
respect and gratitude of society, I shall have accom- 
plished a duty pleasant to myself, and surely not unac- 
ceptable to you. 

First and" foremost among the items of knowledge 
which are most precious to the merchant, is the know- 
ledge of that great truth, by which alone he learns to 
establish for himself and of himself a sure basis of 
extensive commercial enterprise. I mean the truth, that 
credit is capital, and that prudence and integrity form 
the only sure foundation of credit. This foundation it 
depends on himself, and himself alone, to lay. The heir 
of affluence may dispense with it, by limiting his opera- 
tions to the extent of his patrimonial resources. He 
who, less fortunate, must be the architect of his own 
prosperity, must build on this foundation or he builds 
on the sand. 

The truth to which I assign so much importance, is, 
after all, but another form of the hackneyed maxim, 
that "honesty is the best policy." With this we are 
all familiar from our infancy; for even they whose ex- 
perience has led them to doubt, or whose weakness has 
been tempted to disregard it, still teach it to their chil- 
dren. Alas ! how many are there, who, soon after their 
entrance into life, begin by neglecting, then learn to 
doubt, and end in despising it. The merchant is not 
of this number; for his profession is a school, where 
this lesson of sound wisdom as well as sound morality 
is daily inculcated, illustrated, and enforced. Conti- 
nually present to his business, it is ever in his mind. 
He understands it in its causes, he traces it to its con- 



400 

sequences, and follows it out into all the details of a 
system of finance, which the profoundest philosopher, 
the most sagacious statesman, unaided by experience, 
could never have elaborated. This knowledge is not 
for himself alone. It is for his country — for society — 
for the world; and the counting-house becomes at once 
the nursery of public faith, and the school of financial 
wisdom and skill. The sciolist in politics may prate 
about hard money, and bank paper, or may imagine 
that credit can be created at will by the establishment 
of banking institutions, or dissipated by the capricious 
breath of arbitrary and perverse legislation; but the 
merchant knows, and the statesman who has studied 
finance in the school of the merchant knows that "where 
prudence and integrity are ivanting, credit cannot 
exist, and that where these prevail, credit cannot be 
destroyed. 

Is the merchant's profit then the return on capital, or 
is it the price of that knowledge of the sound principles 
of commerce, and the reward of that integrity and pru- 
dence, which enable him to dispense with capital ? In 
doing this, indeed, he often uses the capital of others, 
and for such use compensation must be made. But 
what is that compensation but a' part of the price he 
pays for what he buys ? The excess is his profit. 

If society — if the world owed nothing else to the 
merchant but the knowledge of this truth, this alone 
would entitle him to a place among the best benefactors 
of mankind. Trace man through all the gradations of 
his condition, from the highest perfection and happi- 
ness of which his nature has hitherto shown itself capa- 
ble, down to that lowest abyss of abasement and misery, 
in which nothing of humanity but a distorted semblance 
of the outward form remains to him, and in every step 
of his degradation you will find a corresponding ig- 
norance or insensibility of this great truth. The nation 
where it is universally understood, and firmly esta- 
blished in men's minds, and incorporated in usages, 
and recognised and maintained bylaws, and interwoven 
with political institutions, commands at pleasure the 
capital of the whole earth, and makes every production 



401 

of nature and art, throughout the world, tributary to 
her prosperity. The example of England at once occurs 
to every mind. Where does the sun shine to ripen the 
fruits of the earth, and she is not enriched by his beams ? 
On what cultivated field do the showers of heaven de- 
scend, and part of the harvest is not for her ? What 
mine is explored, whose treasures do not find their way 
into her coffers, and whose gems do not glitter on her 
brow ? 

An example may be found in our own country, which 
presents a yet more striking aspect of moral grandeur, 
and illustrates the triumph of these great principles 
over all the obstacles that nature can interpose. Look 
at the state of Massachusetts ! What a prospect did 
that country present two hundred years ago to the eyes 
of the pilgrims who first sought there a sanctuary for 
civil and religious freedom ! A stern climate and a 
sterile soil would have repelled the wanderers from its 
frozen bosom, had they not, like the Israelites of old, 
felt that they were conducted by the hand of God him- 
self. Strong in this faith it was an essential point in 
all their plans and purposes, by no fault of theirs to 
forfeit the divine protection on which they mainly re- 
lied; and they resolved to persevere, under the profound 
conviction that, to clean hands and stout hearts, to 
integrity of purpose, to strength of will, to energy in 
action and fortitude in endurance, sustained by heaven, 
and guided by enlightened civilization, there is nothing- 
impossible. 

In this spirit they undertook the settlement of that 
inhospitable wilderness: in this spirit they achieved 
it; and in this spirit have they continued to act in the 
management of all their concerns, and in their whole 
system of law and polity. Now behold the result ! 
Where on earth is there a community more flourishing, 
more rapidly advancing in prosperity, more distin- 
guished among the nations for all that constitutes true 
glory ? Where too is there more happiness for the indi- 
vidual man ? Where is established a higher standard 
of comfort,* where are the means of intellectual im- 
provement and moral culture more extensive and effi- 
34* 



402 

cient; and where have these more widely disseminated, 
through all the ranks of society, the treasures of know- 
ledge, the maxims of morality, and the truths of chris- 
tian revelation. 

What has achieved all this ? It is all the work of 
commerce. But where did commerce find capital to 
serve as the basis of her operations ? Was it brought 
with them by men driven from their homes by oppres- 
sion and plunder, and cast naked and hungry on a desert 
shore, the abode of savage foes ? Was it gleaned from 
the barren soil of the country of their refuge ? Was 
it dug from the bowels of the earth ? The earth there 
has no treasures on its surface, or in its bosom. The 
moaning blast from the bleak hills could only waft to 
them a voice which said, 

"We yield you shelter in our breast: 
Your own true hearts must win the rest." 

And they did win it. But how? By a knowledge 
of the respective wants and resources of the different 
parts of the globe; and by the exhibition, everywhere, 
of those high but unambitious virtues, integrity and pru- 
dence, which secure universal confidence, and, by com- 
manding credit, supply the place of capital. The en- 
terprise of the northern merchant, the hardihood and 
skill of the northern seaman, are both indeed proverbial; 
but is it these alone that have made Massachusetts what 
she is ? Let these remain; and take away the stern 
fidelity, the intrepid disregard of all consequences that 
may attend the fulfilment of engagements, the profes- 
sional pride of the merchant in the sanctity of his 
plighted word, and the sound and efficient system of ju- 
risprudence, established, upheld and enforced by public 
sentiment, to secure the faith of any whose faith might 
waver, take these away, and Massachusetts would to 
this day have presented the aspect of a barren shore, 
the abode of a few wretched fishermen and wreckers, 
detested and dreaded by all the world, professing no- 
thing here, and hoping nothing hereafter. 

At this moment, while in other parts of the United 
States, credit is crumbling away, and tottering on the 



403 

unstable basis of positive institutions, all the resources 
of the whole commercial world are at the command 
of the state of Massachusetts. And why? Is she 
richer than any of the rest ? Is she richer than the 
collective whole? No. But commerce is so exten- 
sively interwoven with all the affairs of her people, 
and the principles of commerce are so generally 
understood among them, that no fear is entertained, 
that a majority will ever abuse their political franchise, 
to their own destruction, by knocking away the only 
sure prop of commercial prosperity. The credit of the 
state of Massachusetts rests on public faith: and that 
on the good faith of the merchant class, and on the in- 
fluence of that class to disseminate through the com- 
munity a sense of the value, as well as the sanctity of 
all plighted faith, whether public or private. The same 
is true of the English nation. That fidelity to engage- 
ments, which commands the confidence and the re- 
sources of all the world, finds its guarantee less in the 
stern decrees of Westminster Hall, than in the just 
and enlightened maxims of the Royal Exchange. 

These, gentlemen, are the causes of prosperity to 
these two communities, causes which have filled their 
cup to overflowing, and have enabled them to pour the 
redundant streams into channels of benevolent enter- 
prise, for which the very ends of the earth have reason 
to call them blessed. Hand in hand they have kneeled 
at the altar of God, and devoted themselves to a new 
apostleship: and, as the Saviour of the world sent forth 
his disciples by two and two to disseminate the glad 
tidings of salvation, so have these two been consecrated 
to "go into all the earth, and preach the gospel to every 
creature." Is there an idolator who has turned from 
his images of wood and stone, to the worship*"of the 
living God, that does not owe his conversion to them? 
Is there a pagan, who, instead of the blood of his fellow 
man, immolated on the altar of his barbarous creed, 
now offers to Heaven only the sacrifice of an humble 
and contrite heart, and renouncing rapine and slaugh- 
ter, makes the duties of brotherly love the business of 
his life, that may not attribute the blessed change to 



404 

their influence ? And is there, then, a corner of the 
habitable earth, that has not reason to rejoice that both 
old and New England have had the wisdom to base 
their commercial establishments on the great commer- 
cial truth that prudence and' integrity are the founda- 
tion stones of credit; and that credit, by commanding 
and concentrating all the capital that is, and anticipat- 
ing even that which does not yet exist, is capable of 
achieving tasks which capital alone could never accom- 
plish ? 

But commerce is not merely the handmaid of benevo- 
lent enterprise. She. is herself the great apostle of 
civilization to the whole human race: and the commis- 
sion of her apostleship is found in the wide distribu- 
tion of the bounties of Providence over all the earth. 
Whatever region produces these, invites the visit of the 
merchant, and no land is so forbidding, no climate so 
stern, no atmosphere so pestilential, that he does not 
brave their dangers, in the pursuit of his object. That 
object is gain| hut the manifest purpose of him who 
placed these treasures in regions, which otherwise the 
foot of civilized man would never tread, is the civiliza- 
tion and improvement of the whole human race. To 
this great end he who causes the wrath of man to praise 
him, renders the cupidity of the merchant subservient. 

While contemplating the subject in this point of 
view, it seems hardly worthy of its dignity, to note the 
benefit which is immediately conferred on the inha- 
bitants of every country, whose superfluous and wasting 
productions are thus exchanged for the superfluities of 
other lands, which, to the new possessor, are rare and 
precious beyond all estimation. It is here we find the 
secret of the gainfulness of the commercial occupation. 
Distant parts of the earth produce, spontaneously, and 
without stint, articles peculiar to each, and of great 
intrinsic value, and, at the same time, incapable (such 
is the mysterious law of nature) of being produced any 
where but in the very region appointed for them by 
Providence. Why is it that the productions of the 
eastern and western hemispheres, under the same pa- 
rallel, are not the same ? In the laws of natural philo- 



405 

sophy we seek the answer in vain. But when we 
consider the moral nature of that Being whose will 
overrules al! the laws of physical nature, we perceive a 
reason worthy of his wisdom and benevolence. Hence 
there is hard I v a corner of the earth which is not ran- 
sacked to minister to the comfort and luxury of our 
daily existence,* while, to the inhabitants of regions 
where many of the articles thus employed are. produced 
without labour, they are worthless (but for the distant 
demand) as the dust beneath their feet. How many 
things does science make valuable, which, to ignorance 
are but dirt and dross? How many things does art 
make instrumental to enjoyment which ignorance 
thrusts aside as loathsome and disgusting? What but 
the eagerness of the invaders of Mexico and Peru led 
the inhabitants to suspect that their gold and gems were 
worthy to be compared in value with the iron of Eu- 
rope ? How long will it be before the savage of our 
western wilds will cease-to think his most valuable furs 
well exchanged for a handful of powder ? And so they 
are. From the very first, all parties are benefited by 
the exchange, for at either extremity of the chain of in- 
tercourse, each receives, in return for a small amount 
of labour, that which is of great value to him, and 
which no labour of his own could have produced. At 
first indeed the merchant indemnifies his hazards and 
requites his trouble with much the largest part of the 
gain of the whole transaction. But competition in time 
reduces this to a juster proportion, and in the end, we 
find all parties enjoying, by fair distribution, a benefit 
which adds immeasurably to the comfort and happiness 
of each. 

In this view of commerce, its marveHous creations 
lose all their strangeness, and we see, without wonder, 
Holland emerging from the sea, and the merchant-kings 
of Venice covering their islands with palaces. The 
desolation of Tyre no longer makes us doubt the history 
of her former splendour; we see the foundation of Solo- 
mon's temple laid in that wisdom which made Jerusalem 
the emporium of commerce; and we muse with awe, 
but without amazement, on the marble waste of arch 



406 

and column, of temples, palaces, and tombs, which was 
once the queen of cities, the Tadmor of the desert. 

Such were the works of commerce, wrought with 
only the clumsy machinery which ages of comparative 
barbarism supplied, and by the exchange of the ruder 
productions which the imperfect state of art and science 
afforded. But were these mechanical tasks of commerce 
the only source of profit to the merchant, and did his 
usefulness to mankind depend on these alone, how vast, 
how various, how valuable, the knowledge which this 
would require! Does there lie hid, anywhere within 
the deep recesses of our rugged mountains, and pathless 
forests, any production of nature rude to the eye, and 
valueless to the unskilful, yet capable of being con- 
verted by the touch of art, into an article of essential 
use ? How valuable to himself — how valuable to his 
country would be the knowledge which should guide 
the merchant to this unsuspected treasure! How richly, 
and how deservedly would his labour be rewarded! 
That such things do exist, I have reason to believe; and 
it is only because ray knowledge is imperfect, that it 
has been of no use to myself or to others. It is per- 
haps true, that there is not a corner of the habitable 
globe, that does not furnish something peculiar tothat 
region, or but obtained from thence, for which the arti- 
san of Europe would gladly exchange the means of 
comfort and happiness, and incentives to cultivation 
and refinement, to some naked savage, hardly superior 
to the beasts around him. 

But, gentlemen, I do not mean to dwell on this view 
of my subject, so familiar to every intelligent member 
of your profession. Looking only to the animal wants 
of our poor n»ked shivering nature, there is, even in 
this view, much to cheer the heart of the philanthropist, 
and to raise the mercantile profession in his esteem, as 
an instrument of universal benevolence. But, in com- 
parison with that great theme which I did but touch, 
how low and sordid do all such considerations appear! 

Returning for a moment to that, I repeat it, gentle- 
men, that commerce is the great apostle of civilization 
to the whole human race; and that the commission of 



407 

her apostleship is found in the wide distribution of the 
bounties of Providence over all the earth. The spices 
of Arabia charge the gale with a summons that calls 
her to dispense the humanizing influences of Chris- 
tianity to those, whose hand, since the days of Ishmael 
and Esau, has been against every man, and every man's 
hand against them. The gem that flames in the mine 
of Golconda, summons her to pull down the temple of 
Juggernaut, and crush his crushing car. The whale, 
that tumbles his unwieldy bulk beneath the northern 
bear, or the frozen serpent of the south; the elephant 
that roams the forests, and the ostrich that scours the 
dusty plains of Africa; the beaver, that beyond our 
own remotest mountains, prosecutes his half-reasoning 
toil, on streams that pour their waters into the Pacific; 
— all these proclaim her mission; — all these call her to 
the fulfilment of that high function to which God has 
appointed her. 

How hitherto has this duty been performed ? I will 
not pain you, gentlemen, by answering the question. 
But, if she has carried persecution, where she should 
have dispensed consolation — if she has but added new 
forms of wretchedness instead of alleviating the old — 
if she has deepened the night of barbarism by render- 
ing civilization odious to the wretched victims of cu- 
pidity, whence has this been, but from a want of know- 
ledge — a want of knowledge of her interest, and know- 
ledge of her duty ? 

Pursue this thought in your own minds, and ask 
yourselves, what would have been now the condition 
of the world, had commerce never been the pursuit of 
any but men of enlighted minds — minds not merely 
familiar with professional technicalities and details, but 
informed by cience, liberalized by literature, and re- 
fined by the divine precepts of Christianity. 
Gentlemen — Without announcing any particular topic, 
as the subject of this discourse, I proposed to set be- 
fore you the reasons why my heart rejoices in the esta- 
blishment of your institution, and, if possible, to give 
it a new value in your own eyes, and to offer to you 



408 

new incentives to that intellectual cultivation, the de- 
sire of which has called it into existence. 

If there be any truth in the thoughts that 1 have sug- 
gested, how deep an interest should be taken bj every 
member of the community in your laudable institution, 
and how strongly should your own minds be excited 
to avail yourselves of its advantages! You need not 
be told how important it is to the merchant to furnish 
himself with an accurate and detailed knowledge of all 
the wants and all the productions of the various regions 
of the earth. Furnished with this, he knows the pro- 
per markets both for buying and selling; he purchases 
at the bare cost of production, and sells at the largest 
possible advance, and at the same time, confers a bene- 
fit proportioned to his own profit, both on those of 
whom he buys and those to whom he sells. Even 
when his business is not on such a scale as to justify 
him in seeking all the various articles in which he deals, 
at the very place where they are produced, he should still 
know whence they come, and the cost of their produc- 
tion. Without this knowledge, he is at the mercy of 
the importer, and liable to heavy losses in the price of 
every thing he buys. But possessing this sort of in- 
formation, he is prepared to detect imposture, to resist 
exaction, and to obtain such terms as may enable him 
to sell at a fair profit, and yet to undersell his less in- 
telligent competitors. He thus extends his business, 
and merits and secures the gratitude of those whose 
comfort is promoted, and whose expenditures are di- 
minished, by dealing with one, who is all the time eu- 
riching himself by the same transactions. 

All this you need not be told. It is written in the 
very horn-book of your profession; and he who knows 
not the importance of this sort of information, is igno- 
rant of the simplest rudiments of commerce. He is a 
snare to all who deal with him, and finally becomes 
himself the victim of his own rash ignorance. But the 
knowledge thus confessedly proper for every merchant, 
is possessed in fact by few; and that for the ever pre- 
vailing reason, that it is not to be acquired but at an 
expense of time, such as men, in the hurry of business, 



409 

and the eager pursuit of present gain, rarely devote to 
purposes not to be accomplished for years to come. 

Important as this sort of knowledge is to the pros- 
perity of the individual merchant, it behooves him yet 
more, as a member of a body united by a great com- 
mon interest, to study, in its principles and in its de- 
tails, the whole commercial system of exchange and 
credit, of which I have already spoken. This is a 
matter which blends the interests of the merchant with 
the financial operations of government, and with the 
politics of his own country, and of the whole commer- 
cial world. Through this he has an interest in events, 
which, to the common eye, seem only to affect the well- 
being of distant lands. The wars of foreign nations, 
the revolutions of remote empires, the abundance or 
deficiency of harvests beyond the Atlantic — all these 
aft'ect not only the merchant engaged in foreign com- 
merce, but they influence and mingle with the affairs 
even of him who buys only in the nearest market, and 
sells only to his immediate neighbours. The wide 
spread ramifications of the admirable system of credit 
and confidence pervade the whole of civilization, and, 
like the nervous fluid, impart an exhilarating and 
healthful influence to the whole, or convey through 
every fibre, some impression from any shock received 
by the remotest part. To understand this system, as a 
whole, and in its parts; in its good and its evil; in its 
beneficial effects, as a cause of prosperity; and in that 
sensibility to malign influences, which to the peevish or 
superficial sometimes gives it the-appearance of a thing 
evil in itself. This is, perhaps, in the present state of 
political science, the most important study of the states- 
man as well as the merchant. But where does the 
true statesman look for that information which is to 
qualify him for his important duties. as the conservator 
and nurse of the prosperity of his countrymen? To 
wh^m do the financiers of that great commercial coun- 
try, England, whether in the cabinet or in parliament, 
address themselves, when any great problem in com- 
merce or finance is to be worked out? They go to the 
Royal Exchange. They summon the merchants to 
35 



410 

Westminster Hall arid Downing street, and, relying on 
the wise maxim, "caivis sua arte credendum," they 
seat themselves at his feet, and listen to the lessons of 
his experience, as to the teachings of inspired wisdom. 
This was the school, in which that wonder of precocious 
ability, the younger Pitt, acquired that knowledge of 
finance, which distinguished and placed him at the head 
of modern statesmen; and here it is that his successors 
have obtained that extensive and accurate information 
of all the commercial interests of the kingdom, which, 
directing all public measures to the general prosperity, 
secures the harmonious co-operation of all the energies 
of commerce with every purpose of the government. 

Gentlemen: there is one view of this subject, which 
acquires incalculable importance from some circum- 
stances, which distinguish the present state of the 
world from any of which we read in history. Hence, 
history, the great teacher of practical wisdom; history, 
which has been well said to be "philosophy teaching 
by example;" history herself is here at fault. Men 
have never before witnessed a career of uninterrupted 
prosperity, whetting by success the appetite for wealth, 
until the desire of gain has become the ruling passion 
in all classes of society, and wealth is heaped up on 
every hand in glittering masses, tempting cupidity to 
plunder. Hence a war against property, in all its 
forms, has been openly proclaimed ,• and the elements 
of disorganization have been stirred up, and the sons 
of rapine, everywhere summoned to the strife, flock to 
her standard, like the hosts, who, in the latter day, 
shall come up to fight against the Lord, at the great 
battle of Armageddon. This portentous movement is 
not confined to any one country. It pervades all 
Christendom, and is most active and most dangerous in 
those very countries where the reign of peace and 
civilization has most widely diffused the blessings of 
prosperity. While the harmony and happiness of ihe 
world are thus threatened, it behooves all to whom they 
are precious to gird on the armour of reason and truth 
and soberness, and prepare to resist the wild inroad. 

Foremost among those to whom belongs this im- 



411 

portant duty, is the merchant. Property in his hands 
is not constrained to wait the spoiler's time, and, when 
assailed, to become his passive prey. He holds it in a 
form that makes it an efficient weapon whether defen- 
sive or offensive. He is the sentinel on the outer wall. 
It is his office to descry the approach of danger, to 
sound the alarm, to sustain the first assault, and to beat 
off the assailant. There is no instrument of more 
potent efficacy in the strifes of men than wealth; but 
the wealth of the property-holder, and especially the 
land-holder, is not enough at his command to be thus 
used. It is the merchant and the capitalist, whose re- 
sources may be employed at pleasure to enlist force 
against force, and drive back the robber to his den. 

But besides this, a duty more pacific, and far more 
honourable, devolves on them. It is theirs to divert 
this struggle, and to disarm the cloud of its thunders 
before it strikes. It is for them to study the mysteries 
of that marvellous prosperity which thus provokes 
cupidity, and to show the world that the interests of all 
mankind, in every class, of every country, are indis- 
solubly connected with, and dependent upon it; and 
that all who war against it, war against themselves. 
This fact, gentlemen, is in truth, the great security for 
the peace of the world, and the harmony and good 
order of society in all civilized communities. It is of 
the nature of that wealth which has its rise in commer- 
cial confidence and credit, that it is available only to 
the rightful possessor, and eludes the grasp of the rob- 
ber. Under the stern dominion of oriental despotism, 
where force is the only law, superior force may triumph 
over law; and property of every kind is precariously 
held, sometimes at the mercy of him who should pro- 
tect it; sometimes at that of such as defy his authority. 
In such a state of society, wealth concentrates itself in 
gems and jewels, and finds its best security in unsus- 
pected holes and corners, or lurks beneath the patches 
of a tattered garment. To display it in any tangible 
form, is to lose it. But where law and order, and 
Christian morality, and the inviolable- fidelity of mer- 
cantile faith have given birth to a system of commercial 



412 






credit, wealth needs no hiding place. It openly shows 
itself in all the costly appliances of comfort and luxury, 
and the arts and devices of delicate and refined taste, 
and the elegances and splendours of magnificent dis- 
play and gorgeous pomp. These seek no concealment, 
and these, therefore, are open to the grasp of rapacity. 
But of what use would be these costly toys to the 
Jack Cades of modern radicalism ? They are but the 
outward signs and indications of wealth, which perish 
in the using, and can only be truly enjoyed when per- 
petually renewed from stores which the hand of the 
spoiler cannot reach. He may seize upon them, and 
fancy that he has secured the possession of the same 
perennial fountain of abundance and luxury, which he 
has seen pouring forth its affluent stream for the benefit 
of the rightful owner. He has but caught the bubbles 
that danced upon its surface; and the reservoir which 
supplies the stream is far beyond his reach, deep hid in 
recesses, which he vainly desires to explore. An un- 
seen hand cuts off the supply, and at the same moment 
a new fountain gushes out as from the rock of Horeb, 
in some distant land, where the intended victim of 
rapine again enjoys in peace the fruits of his labours. 
The musician may be robbed of his instrument, but the 
inspiration which breathed into it the soul of music has 
fled with him, and is still his solace and his pride 
wherever he goes. So let the counting-house of Roths- 
child or Baring be rifled, and it maybe doubted whether 
the robber would not have more enriched himself by the 
plunder of a pedlar's pack. Let a tyrant confiscate 
their wealth, and immediately their wealth takes to 
itself the wings of the morning, and flies away into the 
uttermost parts of the earth. Let a bank be plundered, 
and thougn that bank be sufficient for all its own pur- 
poses, and for all the purposes of credit and commerce; 
though it be prosperous and flourishing, able to meet all 
engagements, and at the same time affording fair profits 
to the partners, and incalculable benefits to the commu- 
nity, yet, if its resources consist only of notes which 
the plunderer cannot sue upon, and dare not show, the 
mischief he does to others is attended with no benefit 



413 

to himself. A part of that mischief indeed falls on his 
own head, and he too suffers in the general wreck of 
commerce and credit. 

May not this be one reason, gentlemen, why poli- 
ticians and schemers of the robber-school, so fret and 
rage against the credit system, and so eagerly insist 
that you shall not be allowed to transact your affairs 
without using costly counters of gold and silver, though 
the cheaper material of paper, or the invisible medium 
of well-founded credit and confidence may suit your 
purposes much better ? Have they discovered that 
to confiscate credit would be as unprofitable as to 
kill the nightingale for his voice ? Like the fox in the 
fable, would they wile you down from your airy perch, 
where their clumsy limbs cannot reach you ? Would 
they have you put all your wealth in a tangible form, 
where it might, at any moment, be made the prey of 
lawless violence, or legalized plunder ? Of one thing, 
gentlemen, I can hardly entertain a doubt — that, were 
all the capital that sustains the vast commercial enter- 
prise of Great Britain, assembled together in bodily 
presence, and in the alluring form of gold and silver, 
the whole military force of the kingdom would be in- 
sufficient to protect it from rapine. But commerce, left 
to herself, and pursuing her own maxims, without a 
view to any such danger, has incidentally created for 
herself a better safeguard than any human power could 
supply. 

Gentlemen — To understand this grand system, thus 
instrumental to your own prosperity, and to the security 
of the community, is one of your highest duties. Nor 
is it less your duty and your interest to vindicate it 
from misconstruction, and to expound it, in all its 
beauty and usefulness, to those whose co-operation and 
support you may need. To this end you should be 
prepared alike to expose the wickedness of those who 
would break down the system, and the folly, which, 
mistaking its principles, would pervert and dishonour 
it. Founded on prudence, how can it prosper, when 
administered with inconsiderate rashness ? Founded 
on integrity, how can it prosper in the hands of those, 
35* 



414 

whose conduct shows that they are eager to enter into 
engagements, without stopping to calculate their means 
of fulfil ling; them ? Its greatest clanger arises from the 
error into which the public is led bj the miscarriages 
of such blunders. Spurn from you the shallow schemer, 
who would build a paltry card-house of paper credits, 
not founded on prudence, integrity, and faith inviolable, 
and you will have less to fear from the wretch who 
would destroy credit, by sapping the foundations of 
public faith and private morality. It is to you, gentle- 
men, that they who rule the destinies of our country, 
must look for information on this important subject, 
and to qualify yourselves to impart this information, is 
a duty which you owe not less to your country than to 
yourselves. 

In comparison with these considerations, how dis- 
gusting and hateful is that view of mercantile skill, in 
which it is regarded as the art of getting rich at the 
expense of others, and in which the merchant's profit 
is considered as the exact measure of the loss sustained 
by those who have the misfortune to deal with him ! Is 
this a true account of the matter ? You would blush 
to own any man as a member of your honourable pro- 
fession, who did not indignantly reject it as false and 
calumnious. You find your defence against the asper- 
sion in your own just consciousness, that, by imparting 
the benefit of your knowledge, not only to him to whom 
you sell, but to him of whom you buy, and to all with 
whom you have to do, you give a fair equivalent for 
your gains. 

Yet this vindication of the honour of your profession 
dwindles into insignificance, in comparison with the 
high function it performs as the guardian and regu- 
lator of credit and exchanges, the nurse of public and 
common prosperity, and the sage and experienced ad- 
viser of the financier and statesman. 

But most of all has commerce reason to lift her head, 
and claim the gratitude and applause of the world, 
when she goes on her sacred mission, as the minister 
and apostle of the living God, to carry the arts of 
civilization, the blessings of enlarged and comprehen- 



415 

sive morality, and the light of christian truth, into lands 
before the abode of pagan darkness and barbarism. Yes, 
gentlemen, commerce is the angel of the Apocalypse, 
which the inspired apostle saw "fly in the midst of 
heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach to them 
that dwell on the earth, and to every kindred, and 
nation, and tongue, and people." This, above all other 
considerations, calls the merchant to the pursuit of 
knowledge — to the cultivation of his mind — to the de- 
velopment of all his powers, moral and intellectual. 
Qualified for this important duty, commerce may wing 
her way over every sea; and the blessing of God shall 
fill her sails; and she shall bring home treasures from 
every land, and "lay up gold as dust, and the gold of 
Ophir as the stones of the brook." 



LECTURE XXI. 

LIBERAL AND STRICT CONSTRUCTIONS OF THE FEDERAL 
CONSTITUTION. 

A Brief Enquiry into the true nature and character of 
our Federal Government: being a Review of Judge 
Story's Commentaries, on the Constitution of the 
United States. 

"Let me write a people's songs, and he who will may 
write their laws." The sagacity of this saying cannot 
be too much applauded. Before the discovery of the 
printing press, the only access to the minds of any peo- 
ple was through their" ears. In those days, the orator 
was omnipotent; or, if his power admitted a rival, that 
rival was the minstrel. The arts of rhetoric, the graces 
of poesy, and the charms of music, were alike resorted 
to, as means of chaining attention, engaging sympathy, 
and enlisting the passions of the multitude. When the 
Spartans asked a general of the Athenians, the latter 



416 

sent them, in derision, a lame old poet He knew no- 
thing of the art of war, but the spirit of the soldier was 
in his breast; and he breathed it into his burning lines, 
and infused it into the hearts of the Spartans; and 
roused them, by the memory of their old renown, to 
rival the deeds of their fathers, and to render the name 
of Sparta more glorious than it had ever been. 

The press has lent its aid to diffuse the influence, and 
perpetuate the fame of the orator and poet; but it has* 
at the same time, become the rival of both. No man 
can be an orator or a poet, who is not born so; and the 
rare and marvellous endowments necessary to the con- 
stitution of either character, gave, to those who pos- 
sessed them, a divided empire over the minds of men. 
This monopoly of intercourse with the public mind 
they no longer enjoy; and now, thanks to the press, it 
may be successfully approached by the sober moralist, 
the stern jurist, and the homely utilitarian, through an 
avenue open alike to all. 

Yet the essential wisdom of the adage quoted above 
is not even now to be questioned. The same idea may 
be expressed in other words, with equal truth, at this 
day. What is that idea ? That he who commands the 
avenues, through which alone the minds of a people 
may be reached, exercises over them a power greater 
than that of the mere written law. In this reading age, 
that avenue is the press; and it is as true at this day, 
as that adage ever was, that ."he who writes a people's 
books, need not care who makes their laws." 

Of the truth of this, the history of the constitution 
and government of the United States affords a remark- 
able and interesting proof. Every one versed in poli- 
tical science perfectly understands why it is that the 
business of authorship in the United States has hereto- 
fore been left to northern writers. But whatever be the 
cause, such has been the fact, and the consequences 
have been such as might have been anticipated. Books, 
intended to form the minds, the habits, and the man- 
ners of the rising generation, are put into the hands of 
our children; and, in these, we look in vain for any 
lessons adapted to such of our institutions, and the re- 



417 

lations growing out of them, as are peculiar to ourselves. 
There is nothing, for example, in any other society, 
analogous to the relation between the white child and 
his negro nurse, or that between the half-grown boy 
and the grey-headed family servant. Yet, from these 
it is -that we imbibe some of our best, as well as earliest 
lessons of feeling and of manners; and these lessons it 
should be, in part, the office of the school-book to en- 
force and ratify. On this point, however, all we have 
are silent; or, if they speak, it is in profound ignorance 
of the subject. All connected with it that the boy finds 
in books is at variance with his experience; and this 
contrariety of influences produces confusion in his 
mind, caprice in his feelings, and inconsistency in his 
conduct. We are persuaded, that a book made up of 
authentic anecdotes of the incidents of the Virginia 
nursery, and the adventures of my young master, in 
the servants' hall, and the stable yard, would be one of 
the most amusing and instructive that could be com- 
piled. What a theme for the candid mind of Mrs. 
Sigourney, if she could trace the history of one day, in 
the life of the little urchin, from the moment he opens 
his eyes, and springs, kicking and chuckling, to his 
nurse's arms, to that, when he cons over to her his even- 
ing prayer; and, patting her face with his little hands, 
sinks to sleep on her bosom. Her sleepless vigilance 
to guard him from Fault or hurt, the ready address with 
which she soothes his petty griefs, and calms his petu- 
lance, and subdues his waywardness, all these are beau- 
tiful; and the heart must be obdurate, indeed, which is 
not made better by witnessing them. We may be 
asked, wherein does this case differ from that of any 
other nurse? and the answer is found in the compli- 
cated relation of the nurse to the family of her little 
charge. His father bears a sort of paternal relation to 
herself; the elder brothers and sisters had formerly 
been her pets, as he now is; she feels a mother's 
interest in all of them; and they, together with her 
own children, form, for her, one family; while the 
master and mistress are the common parents of all. 
And this relation is not a thing of a day. It has come 



418 

down from generation to generation, and gains strength 
in every transmission. We repeat that it is an hiatus 
valde deflendus that in all our school-books there is 
nothing to cherish and perpetuate the holy affections 
engendered in this relation; and thus to check the 
growth of pride, arrogance and selfishness, by keeping- 
alive this sympathy between the highest and the lowest. 
When the boy advances towards manhood, and be- 
gins to study the political institutions of his country, 
he experiences, without perceiving it, a similar want. 
The books in which he must study them are all com- 
posed by writers from a section of the Union where all 
men, in every occupation and in every gradation of so- 
ciety, are aware of a common interest, to establish a 
reading of the constitution highly favourable to their 
purposes, and, for the same reason, and, in a more than 
equal degree, injurious to ours. If our views of that in- 
strument are not altogether erroneous, its framers believ- 
ed that, in a country so extensive as this, comprehending 
such a variety of soil, and climate, and natural advan- 
tages and disadvantages, and embracing people so dif- 
ferent in manners, habits, pursuits, occupations, senti- 
ments and principles of ordinary action, (and, indeed, in 
every thing but language,) there must be great danger in 
establishing a common legislature, with any but very li- 
mitedpowers. It could not happen that, in process of time, 
a numerical majority on one side of a geographical line 
would fail to find, or to create, some interest peculiar 
to their own section, and capable of being advanced by 
partial legislation; and that, sooner or later, they would 
yield to temptation, and adapt their laws to the ad- 
vancement of this predominating interest. This pro- 
position, so true in the abstract, and so obvious to all 
thinking men, could hardly have escaped the observa- 
tion of an assembly of profound statesmen. But, in 
the particular case, this was absolutely impossible; for, 
near the centre of the Union, a line of demarcation was 
already traced between two interests, which, by their 
clashing, actually disturbed the harmony, and threat- 
ened to defeat the labours, of the convention itself. The 
journal of that body testifies of the struggle between 



419 

them, and of the endeavour of each to fix such a basis 
of representation, as should cast the greater weight on 
its own side of this great fulcrum, on which the lever 
of power was to work. The part of wisdom was to 
deny this preponderance to either party; and all at 
length concurred in an honest endeavour to do this. But 
the necessity for this precaution must have admonished 
them of the danger of entrusting very extensive power 
of legislation to be exercised by either party, to the 
prejudice of the other, whenever, in the progress of 
events, the balance thus carefully adjusted might be 
disturbed. The precise nature of the interest which 
the prevailing section would endeavour to advance was 
not foreseen; but it might have been clearly foreseen, 
that some interest would be found, or created, on pur- 
pose to be fostered, which would grow by fostering, 
until it would predominate over every other. 

It was in exact accordance with this idea, that they 
who thought they could foresee that the balance of power 
would be on their side, and, consequently, that the go- 
vernment about to be established would be an instru- 
ment in their hands, would desire to give ample power 
to that government; and that, in this, they would be 
opposed by those who expected to belong: to the weaker 
section. From the nature of the case, the former were 
more numerous, and their number w r as increased by a 
few men of brilliant endowments and soaring ambition, 
who, expecting to act a conspicuous part in the new 
system, were by no means disposed to limit its efficiency, 
or to dim its splendour. There is little doubt, there- 
fore, that in the convention that framed the constitution 
there was a majority inclined to a form of government 
more imposing and more powerful than that which they 
recommended to the people. For the same reason, 
there can be little doubt that, had the fate of the con- 
stitution depended on the convention, such a one would 
have been adopted; and had its fate depended on a nu- 
merical majority of all the people of all the states, 
taken collectively, such a one would have been recom- 
mended and adopted. But the instrument was to be 
subjected to a far different ordeal. It required the ap- 



420 

probation of no less than nine of the thirteen states, 
each acting for itself, and it was clearly seen that, 
though a constitution conferring very large powers on 
the new government would be very acceptable to the 
majority by whom its powers were to be wielded, it 
would never be adopted by nine states, some of which 
must, from the nature of the case, form a part of the 
minority. Hence, in the whole history of the transac- 
tion, we see the debate often turning, not on the ques- 
tion, "what is best?" but on the other question, "what 
will meet the approbation of those whose approbation 
is indispensable ?" 

The considerations alluded to above have influenced 
in all the discussions of the constitution, which have 
since arisen. A short experiment showed, incontest- 
ably, that in all struggles between northern and south- 
ern interests, taking as the boundary of each the line 
between the slave-holding states and the rest, the north- 
ern interest must inevitably preponderate. Hence it 
has happened, that hardly a question of constitutional 
power has been mooted for debate, on which the dis- 
putants have not arrayed themselves geographically; 
the statesmen of the north uniformly affirming, and 
those of the south, with almost equal unanimity, deny- 
ing to congress the power in question. The former, 
fully aware of their prevailing influence in that body, 
saw plainly, that it would be in their power to advance 
or depress, at pleasure, any interest which they could 
bring within the scope of federal legislation. Hence a 
prevailing desire among them to extend the powers of 
the central government as far, and to as many objects, 
as possible. To this end, they uniformly contended for 
the largest and most liberal construction of the terms 
in which every grant of power is couched. But the 
specific enactments of the constitution are so few, that 
they saw that they must fall short of their aim, unless 
they could establish some principle authorizing a rule 
of construction, which might justify the assumption of 
powers not named, or even hinted at in that instrument. 
To this, too, their adversaries were strenuously op- 
posed; and it is precisely here that we are to find the 



421 

line of difference between the two great parties, which 
have always divided, and still divide, the union. They 
have, at different times during the struggle, been dis- 
tinguished by different denominations; the prevailing 
party always choosing its own, and fixing on the other 
any invidious or reproachful appellation it could in- 
vent. The most intelligible designation would have 
been, to call one the central, and the other the anti- 
central party. Believing that we can be best under- 
stood by using these names, we propose to use them 
here. 

It may be an amusing, and not an unprofitable di- 
gression, to note some of the changes of this political 
nomenclature. The central party no sooner found itself 
in the ascendant, than it assumed the then popular 
name of federal, denouncing its adversary as the anti- 
federal party. /The latter, all the time, complained that 
they were wronged in this. They said that their adver- 
saries desired consolidation, while they wished to esta- 
blish a league, (fcedus,) and were, therefore, the only 
true federalists. But they protested in vain. Their 
opponents insisted that the constitution established by 
them was a true league, and the only practicable league, 
and that they, who had opposed its adoption, were dis- 
imionists, opposed to any league; and, therefore, anti- 
federalists; and so the name stuck to them. 

By-and-by, the anti-central party acquired so much 
popular favour, as to be allowed to take a name of its 
own choosing; whereupon it called itself the republican 
party. In the political revolution of 1801 they gained 
the ascendency, and might, in turn, have fixed on their 
adversaries any nick-name they pleased. But they saw 
that the abuses of power, by the administration of the 
elder Adams, had rendered odious the name, (however 
popular at first,) by which his party had been known; 
and, therefore, instead of stripping them of the soiled 
and tattered name of federalist, which was their own 
by rights, they pinned it upon them, and forced them to 
wear it, in disgrace and degradation. Since then, it has 
been a term of reproach, used by all parties as dirt to 
pelt their adversaries with. 
36 



422 

It is not easy for men to continue long in the belief, 
that powers administered by themselves are excessive. 
It is an old saying, that "whigs, out of place, are tories 
in power." It is equally true, and for a much stronger 
reason, that "anti-centralists, out of place, become, 
sooner or later, centralists, in power." Hence, it was 
quite in the order of cause and consequence, that 
Chancellor Kent, writing in 1825, should find occasion 
to say, that, "since 1812, the progress of public opinion 
had been in favour of a pretty liberal and enlarged 
construction of the Constitution of the United States." 
The reader hardly needs to be reminded, that, during 
these twelve years, public opinion acknowledged the 
almost absolute sway of presidents Madison and Mon- 
roe, who claimed to be, and were acknowledged to be, 
the legitimate successors of the principles, as well as 
the power, of Mr. Jefferson. 

It followed, as a matter of course, that, when the 
self-called republican party thus adopted the leading 
maxims of centralism, an opportunity was afforded to 
the old central party to denude itself of the odious de« 
nomination of federalism. The cloak of republicanism 
was spread out so widely as to afford them a covering. 
They took shelter under it; and they were all republi- 
cans together; while John Randolph, and a few more 
old anti-centralists, who refused to be embraced in this 
new confraternity, were stigmatized as a sort of tertium 
quid, to which no appropriate designation could be ap- 
plied; though, sometimes, the dishonoured name of 
federalist was thrown at them, as the dirtiest thing that 
came to hand. 

All the rest bundled together, heads and points, very 
cozily. But there were some among them who, though 
unwilling to quit the party, and expose themselves all 
thin and naked to the merciless pel tings that awaited 
them, still retained a sort of hankering after some of 
the old states' rights notions of anti-centralism. The 
genuine centralists, aware of this, and finding them- 
selves strong enough to do without the others, deter- 
mined to shake them off. They therefore took to them- 



423 

selves, along with the name of republican, which was 
common to them all, the prefix "national."* 

Under this denomination, Mr. J. Q. Adams came into 
office; but no sooner was he installed, than either his 
folly, or his frankness, prompted him to call upon all 
the world to note the perfect identity between this na- 
tional republicanism and the old -fashioned federalism. 
It is certainly true, that both these denominations were 
but other names for centralism; and the fact, then dis- 
tinctly stated, was recognised by every one as true. 

Now it so happened that Mr. Adams came into power 
under a certain form of the constitution, which, being 
devised to provide for the case of an election in which 
a majority of votes is not declared in favour of any one 
candidate, necessarily places in the presidential chair 
one who, not having a majority in his favour, had of 
course a majority against him. Such a result, happen 
when it may, will always be reckoned a sort of outrage 
on the rights of the majority; and all the friends of the 
defeated candidates will be ready to avenge it, by rally- 
ing to the support of the most available leader among 
them. So it happened in this case: and as Mr. Adams 
had openly hoisted the banner of centralism, the two 
parts in three of the people who opposed him were 
driven, by a sort of polarity, which prevails in politics, 
as well as in magnetism and electricity, into the oppo- 
site extreme of anti-centralism. Hence we heard sud- 
denly, of nothing but states' rights: John Taylor's reso- 
lutions, and Madison's report, and other catechisms of 
the states' right church were hunted up, and reprinted, 
and men with gray beards put on their spectacles, and 
diligently applied themselves to the study of the horn- 
book of a political school to which they had always 

* This is the most appropriate designation ever borne by the 
central party. They are republicans; we are all so; but the 
word "national" was happily chosen to express, as inoffensively 
as possible, the peculiar views of the consolidationists. It is 
worthy of remark, by the way, that neither the word nation, nor 
any of its synonymes or derivatives appears in the constitution; 
and that a proposition to declare the people of the United States 
a "body politic," or nation, was lost. The word "national," 
therefore, is not a constitutional word. 



424 

professed to belong. The consequence of this was, 
that Gen. Jackson came into power, under the states' 
rights or anti-centrai banner; and men, who did not 
look below the surface, saw, with astonishment, that 
principles which had been forgotten, or scouted, for 
twenty-five years, were suddenly proclaimed as worthy 
of all acceptation. Then it was that the ostracism of 
John Randolph, who had always openly maintained 
these principles, was repealed; he was received as a 
prophet and leader among the successful party; and his 
name was joined, in the Jo triumphe of victory, with 
that of the great Mokannah himself. 

Now no man in the United States was more deeply, 
imbued with the spirit of centralism than Andrew 
Jackson; and he found such pleasure in wielding all 
the just authority of his office, and he could have found 
so much greater pleasure in wielding ten times more, 
that this pleasant experience fully convinced him that 
all his early impressions had been certainly right; and 
that all attempts to curb the power of the general go- 
vernment, and to uphold the dignity of the states, were 
heretical, treasonable, damnable. 

General Jackson's second election to the presidency 
was the signal for the annunciation of these views; and 
we accordingly find them bodly avowed, in his cele- 
brated proclamation of December 10, 1852, against 
South Carolina. Along with this proclamation came a 
new change in the nomenclature of parties. The tri- 
umphant re-election of General Jackson, by an im- 
mense majority, gave him a right to consider himself as 
the organ and exponent of numbers as such, and fully 
authorized to put forth his own sentiments, upon every 
subject, as the opinion of numbers. Hence he pro- 
claimed himself the head of a democratic party; and, 
as the political creed, which he put forth as that of his 
party, was the creed of the highest church of centralism^ 
centralism took a new name, and became democracy. 
The party, at first, embraced all descriptions of cen- 
tralism. But it was soon found to be too numerous. 
The trouble of bluffing off those for whom there was 
no room at the "treasury-trough" was too great, and 



425 

means were devised to get rid of them. This was done 
by offending them by the removal of the deposites, one 
motive to which, if we are to believe one who had a 
right to know, was to cut down the eleemosynary esta- 
blishment of the executive to a size better adapted to 
the extent of its patronage, and to destroy the hopes of 
certain aspirants. By this means, a small section of 
the central party was turned out of its own church. 
They were told, that there was no room for them, under 
the embroidered folds of this new cloak of democracy, 
and that the old tattered rag of federalism was good 
enough for them. They soon found that they were 
not numerous enough to do any thing effectual by them- 
selves; and hence they were driven, for the nonce, to 
seek the alliance, against the party in power, of their 
old enemy, and- centralism. This alliance afforded the 
democratic centralism a pretext for endeavouring to 
fix the name of federalism on an opposition embracing 
every variety of opinion on the subject to which that 
name refers. It is remarkable, too, that centralism, 
under its new form, showed itself so dangerous, mani- 
fested such capacities for mischief, not before suspect- 
ed, that many, who had joined the ranks of opposition, 
as centralists, became heartily convinced of their error, 
and honestly and earnestly abjured centralism, as a 
fatal heresy. The consequence was, that the central 
portion of the alliance dwindled away, and the opposi- 
tion was finally and successfully conducted on anti- 
central principles. Yet, inasmuch as a portion of the 
federal party had been driven into the ranks of the op- 
position, this was taken by the advocates of Mr. Van 
Buren as a sufficient excuse for denouncing the whole 
opposition as federalists. 

One word more on the subject of party nomencla- 
ture. Next after that of national republican, the name 
of democracy is perhaps the most appropriate, certainly 
the most dangerous, that centralism ever has assumed. 
The cardinal maxim of this ultra- democracy so nearly 
resembles the cardinal maxim of centralism, that the 
two may easily be confounded. Democracy claims, 
for a majority of the people, a right to do what they 
36* 



426 

please, regardless of the constitution, and of the cove- 
nanted rights of minorities, for whose benefit and pro- 
tection constitutions were devised. The same right is 
claimed by centralism for the representatives of a ma- 
jority of the people in congress, regardless of the con? 
stitution, and regardless of the covenanted rights of 
minorities, and especially of the rights of the states, 
asserted on behalf of any local minority, though it may 
happen to embrace the total population of an aggrieved 
state. Between these two things the multitude cannot 
be expected to distinguish; and hence the unpopularity 
of nullification, in which the million saw nothing but 
an audacious attempt at defiance to the sovereign will 
of a majority. 

While all these various changes were going on, the 
book-makers of the north were busy in preparing works 
for propagating, through the minds of the rising gene- 
ration, and especially through the legal profession, prin- 
ciples of constitutional law suited to the views of cen- 
tralism. We have even seen a northern school-book, 
intended for the use of young gentlemen of the ripe 
age of ten years, in which they are taught by rote, that 
"Congress has power to provide for the common de- 
fence and general welfare."* This summary decision 
of a disputed point in constitutional law is foisted into 
a work intended for children, and stands alone amidst 
a statement of such facts as that "the chief magistrate 
of the United States is called the president." The 
result is, that though the children of such prudent 
parents as prefer to have them instructed by the demure 
precisians who, from the north, throng the country, as 
candidates for employment as teachers, grow up to the 
age at which they should begin to study the institutions 
of their country, with minds pre-occupied with the idea 
that the United States differ in nothing but the elective 

* This work bears the popular name of Peter Parley. In his 
last work Mr. Goodrich complains that others had made an 
unauthorized use of his nom de guerre. We have a high respect 
for him, and hope that this political fraud was the work of one 
of these knaves. 



427 

principle, from the consolidated kingdoms and empires 
of Europe. 

When we attempt to eradicate this fatal error, we 
again encounter the high authority of Chancellor Kent, 
who, in 1825, hailing the accession of Mr. J. Q. Adams 
as an event highly favourable to the successful promul- 
gation of central doctrines, put forth his lectures on 
the constitution, in which he places them oh a basis 
from which they never can be shaken, unless the basis 
itself be removed. The coincidence, in point of time, 
between this grave work, and Mr. Adams' sneer at all 
those, who could think our forefathers "so ineffably 
stupid," as to intend to restrain congress from doing 
whatsoever congress might think advisable, is worthy 
of observation. 

The fundamental principle, which the chancellor 
takes as the basis of his whole system, is an historical 
proposition, which, strangely enough, seems to have 
escaped the attention of the historians themselves. It 
is this: "that the association of the American people, 
into one body politic, took place, while they were colo- 
nies of the British empire, and owed allegiance to the 
British crown!" 

This proposition is not supported by reference to any 
authority in proof of it, as a distinct and substantive 
fact, nor by any argument, deducing it, as a conse- 
quence, from other known and acknowledged facts. 
Like the tirade in Mr. Adams' inaugural, it seems to 
be thrown out as a feeler. The established character 
of Chancellor Kent as a jurist, and the popular style 
of a work, which seemed to make the dry and severe 
study of the law easy and familiar to every body, gave 
to this dictum extensive circulation and high authority; 
and the error thus inculcated was left to eat its way 
into the minds of men, for the next eight years. 

At the end of that time, General Jackson found oc- 
casion to avail himself of this dogma, put forth for the 
benefit of his predecessor and rival. He accordingly 
adopted it, and engrafted it, nearly in the same words, 
in his celebrated proclamation. The poison, which 
had been so long working in secret on the vitals of the 



428 

constitution, now forced itself on the attention of 
southern statesmen, by this sudden breaking out into 
the active politics of the day. It was attacked and ex- 
posed by several of them, in writings which deserved 
a more enduring existence, than the columns of a news- 
paper could secure.* But, in the excitement of the 
day, these were coldly received, even by some of those 
who, on this point, fully agreed with the writers. 

But, at the same time, another work of an opposite 
character made its appearance in a different form, and 
under much more favourable auspices. The proposi- 
tion, which had been put forth, naked and unsupported, 
by Chancellor Kent, in 1825, Judge Story had made it 
his business, in the mean time, to expand and enforce, 
in his lectures as Dane Professor in Harvard Univer- 
sity. The appearance of the proclamation was the 
signal for the publication of these lectures, which came 
out immediatety after. They were understood to be 
in the press, at the time of Mr. Webster's famous 
speech on the proclamation; and some did not scruple 
to say, at the time, that whenever that work should ap- 
pear, it would be found to contain the substance of that 
speech. It would not indeed be difficult to trace a 
political connection, from Judge Story, to some of those 
who were about the president at that time, and by whom 
the proclamation was concocted, which might justify a 
suspicion, that the Judge had something to do in work- 
ing the fingers, that held the pen, on that occasion. It 
was indeed a joyous day for centralism; a day of tri- 
umph to some of those, who had carried the doctrines 
of that school so far, as to separate themselves from 
the great body of the party; so that acknowledged 
talents of the highest order, and unquestioned integrity 
and virtue, had failed to secure to them such support, 
from any party, as might bring their merits before the 
public eye. To those who knew their worth, they 
seemed to be men of unambitious virtue, self-doomed 

* A series of essays by Mr. Tazewell, under the signature of 
"A Virginian," and another by Judge Upshur, under that of 
"Locke," deserved to be rescued from the common fate of news- 
paper essays. 



429 

to privacy and obscurity. The avidity, with which 
they have since accepted office, shows that this was a 
mistake, and drives us back on the conclusion, that 
they had never been brought forward before, because 
their centralism was of a higher grade, than any party, 
before 1832, had dared to avow. 

Judo;e Story, like Chancellor Kent, adopts, as the 
basis of his whole theory of constitutional law, the 
same supposed fact, "that the association of the Ame- 
rican people, into one body politic, took place, while 
they were colonies of the British empire, and owed 
allegiance to the British crown.' 5 

If this were so, it follows, from the nature of a body 
politic, that the federative form of our system is not 
the result of a pre-existing fact, but a gratuitous device 
of the sovereign will of the body politic itself, mould- 
ing and disposing its parts according to its own pleasure. 
The states are not (as the framers of the articles of con- 
federation seem to have supposed) bodies originally 
possessing, and still, under those articles, '•' retaining 
sovereignty and independence." They sink at once to 
the level of mere municipal divisions of the incorporat- 
ed whole, carried out by the will and pleasure of the 
whole, and liable, at any moment, to be obliterated 
and absorbed by it. One consequence of this would 
be, that the abolition of the constitution would abolish 
the boundaries of these municipalities, and produce, 
not a dissolution of the union, but a consolidation of 
all the states, into one empire, a numerical majority of 
which, according to the Virginia bill of rights, would 
have "an indubitable, unalienable, and indefeasible 
right," to impose on the minority any form of govern- 
ment they might prefer.* 

But, without anticipating these remote, and impro- 
bable, though by no means impossible, consequences of 
this doctrine, it is manifest, that it completely abrogates 
and reverses all those rules of construction deduced 
by our southern statesmen from the federative charac- 
ter of our institutions. It thus supplies the great dp- 

* Declaration of Rights, S. 3. 



430 

sideratum of centralism: a foundation for all the argu- 
ments in favour of implied, constructive, and discre- 
tionary powers, which would be admissible in the 
interpretation of a state constitution. 

Here then is the place "where the wild fig-trees join 
the wall of Troy;" and here it is that all who would 
defend the palladium of states' rights must meet the 
enemy. 

Alas! for John Randolph! could his shade appear 
among us: — 

"Quantum mntatus ab illo 
Hectore qui redit, exuvias indutus Achillis 
Vel Danaum Phrygios jaculatus puppibus ignes," 

What would he say, what could he say but this— 

"Hostis habet muros: rait alto a culmine Troja." 

"Si Pergama dextra 
Defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent." 

It is too true. But it is never too late to perish in a 
good cause; and they who survive must fight to the last. 
There is no Latium for us to fly to.* 

It is in this spirit, that our author has drawn his pen 
against this formidable writer. We have introduced 
him at this length, because we wished to impress our 
readers with the importance of the task he has under- 
taken, before we call their attention to the ability with 
which he has executed it. Henceforth he shall speak 
for himself. 

* "We would not be understood to allude here to the result of 
the late straggle as a triumph df centralism. On the contrary, 
we hope the best from it. Our fear is, that the spirit of centralism 
has entered so deeply into the minds of the people, that the op- 
posite principle is, for the reason already hinted at, so apt to be 
unpopular, and that the states have been so degraded, that any 
attempt, on the part of the administration, to reinstate them in 
their dignity and sovereign rights, may fail to receive the sup- 
port of the multitude. 

The result showed that the representatives of this multitude 
were prepared to prevent the president, elected under such cir- 
cumstances, from carrying on the government at all, unless he 
would agree to carry it on, on central principles. 



431 

The point in controversy is thus stated: 

"It appears to be a favourite object with the author 
to impress upon the mind of the reader, at the very 
commencement of his work, the idea that the people of 
the several colonies were, as to some objects, which he 
has not explained, and to some extent, which he has not 
defined, 'one people.' This is not only plainly inferable 
from the general scope of the book, but is expressly 
asserted in the following passage: 'But although the 
colonies were independent of each other in respect to 
their domestic concerns, they were not wholly alien to 
each other. On the contrary, they were fellow subjects, 
and for many purposes one people. Every colonist had 
a right to inhabit, if he pleased, in any other colony, 
and as a British subject he was capable of inheriting 
lands by descent in every other colony. The commer- 
cial intercourse of the colonies, too, was regulated by 
the general laws of the British empire, and could not 
be restrained or obstructed by colonial legislation. The 
remarks of Mr. Chief Justice Jay are equally just and 
striking: "All the people of this country were then 
subjects of the king of Great Britain, and owed alle- 
giance to him, and all the civil authority then existing 
or exercised here flowed from the head of the British 
empire. They were in a strict sense fellow subjects, 
and in a variety of respects one people. When the 
revolution commenced, the patriots did not assert that 
only the same affinity and social connection subsisted 
between the people of the colonies which subsists be- 
tween the people of Gaul, Britain and Spain, while 
Roman provinces, to wit: only that affinity and social 
connection which results from the mere circumstance 
of being governed by the same prince."" 5 

After some remarks on the vague phraseology of this 
passage, the author goes on. 

"It is to be regretted that the author has not given 
us his own views of the sources from which these seve- 
ral rights and powers were derived. If they authorize 
his conclusion, that there was any sort of unity among 
the people of the several colonies, distinct from their 
common connection with the mother country, as parts 
of the same empire, it must be because they flowed 



432 

from something in the relation betwixt the colonies 
themselves, and not from their common relation to the 
parent country. Nor is it enough that these rights and 
powers should, in 'point of fact, flow from the relation 
of the colonies to one another; they must be the neces- 
sary result of their political condition, Even admitting, 
then, that they would, under any state of circumstances, 
warrant the conclusion which the author has drawn from 
them, it does not follow that the conclusion is correctly 
drawn in the present instance. For aught that he has 
said to the contrary, the right of every colonist to in- 
habit and inherit lands in every colony, whether his 
own or not, may have been derived from positive com- 
pact and agreement among the colonies themselves; and 
this presupposes that they were distinct and separate, 
and not 'one people.' And, so far as the rights of the 
mother country are concerned, they existed in the same 
form, and not to the same extent, over every other 
colony of the empire. Did this make the people of all 
the colonies 'one people ?' If so, the people of Ja- 
maica, the British East Indian possessions and the 
Canadas are, for the very same reason, 'one people' at 
this day. If a common allegiance to a common sove- 
reign, and a common subordination to his jurisdiction, 
are sufficient to make the people of different countries 
'one people,' it is not perceived (with all deference to 
Mr. Chief Justice Jay) why the people of Gaul, Britain 
and Spain might not have been 'one people,' while Ro- 
man provinces, notwithstanding 'the patriots' did not 
say so. The general relation between colonies and the 
parent country is as well settled and understood as any 
other, and it is precisely the same in all cases, except 
where special consent and agreement may vary it. 
Whoever, therefore, would prove that any peculiar 
unity existed between the American colonies, is bound 
to show something in their charters, or some peculiarity 
in their condition, to exempt them from the general 
rule. Judge Story was too well acquainted with the 
state of the facts to make any such attempt in the pre- 
sent case. The congress of the nine colonies, which 
assembled at New York, in October, 1765, declare that 



433 

the colonists 'owe the same allegiance to the crown of 
Great Britain, that is owing from his subjects born 
within the realm, and all clue subordination to that 
august body, the parliament of Great Britain.' 'That 
the colonists are entitled to all the inherent rights and 
liberties of his [the king's] natural born subjects within 
the kingdom of Great Britain.' We have here an all- 
sufficient foundation of the right of the crown to regu- 
late commerce among the colonies, and of the right of 
the colonists to inhabit and to inherit land in each and 
all the colonies. They were nothing more than the 
ordinary rights and liabilities of every British subject^ 
and, indeed, the most that the colonies ever contended 
for was an equality, in these respects, with the subjects 
born in England. The facts, therefore, upon which our 
author's reasoning is founded, spring from a different 
source from that from which he is compelled to derive 
them, in order to support his conclusion. 

"So far as the author's argument is concerned, the 
subject might be permitted to rest here. Indeed, one 
would be tempted to think, from the apparent careless- 
ness and indifference with which the argument is urged, 
that he himself did not attach to it any particular im- 
portance. It is not his habit to dismiss grave matters 
with such slight examination, nor does it consist with 
the character of his mind to be satisfied with reasoning 
which bears even a doubtful relation to his subject. 
Neither can it be supposed that he would be willing to 
rely on the simple ipse dixit of Chief Justice Jav, 
unsupported by argument, unsustained by any refer- 
ences to historical facts, and wholly indefinite in extent 
and bearing. Why, then, was this passage written ? 
As mere history, apart from its bearing on the constitu- 
tion of the United States, it is of no value in this work, 
and is wholly out of place. All doubts upon this point 
will be removed in the progress of this examination. 
The great effort of the author, throughout his entire 
work, is to establish the doctrine, that the constitution 
of the United States is a government of 'the people of 
the United States,' as contradistinguished from the 
people of the several states; or, in other words, that it 



434 

is a consolidated, and not a federative system. His 
construction of every contested federal power depends 
mainly upon this distinction; and hence the necessity 
of establishing a one-ness among the people of the 
several colonies, prior to the revolution. It may well 
excite our surprise, that a proposition so necessary to 
the principal design of the work, should be stated with 
so little precision, and dismissed with so little effort to 
sustain it by argument. One so well informed as Judge 
Story, of the state of political opinions in this country, 
could scarcely have supposed that it would be received 
as an admitted truth, requiring no examination. It 
enters too deeply into grave questions of constitutional 
law, to be so summarily disposed of. We should not 
be content, therefore, with simply proving, that the 
author has assigned no sufficient reason for the opinion 
he has advanced. The subject demands of us the still 
farther proof that his opinion is, in fact, erroneous, and 
that it cannot be sustained by any other reasons. 

"In order to constitute 'one people,-' in a political 
sense, of the inhabitants of different countries, some- 
thing more is necessary than that they should owe a 
common allegiance to a common sovereign. Neither 
is it sufficient that, in some particulars, they are bound 
alike, by laws which that sovereign may prescribe; nor 
does the question depend on geographical relations. 
The inhabitants of different islands may be one people, 
and those of contiguous countries may be, as we know 
they in fact are, different nations. By the term 'peo- 
ple,' as here used, we do not mean merely a number 
of persons. We mean by it a political corporation, the 
members of which owe a common allegiance to a com- 
mon sovereignty, and do not owe any allegiance which 
is not common; who are bound by no laws except such 
as that sovereignty may prescribe; who owe to one 
another reciprocal obligations; who possess common 
political interests; who are liable to common political 
duties; and who can exert no sovereign power except 
in the name of the whole. Any thing short of this 
would be an imperfect definition of that political cor- 
poration which we call 'a people.' 



435 

"Tested by this definition, the people of the Ameri- 
can colonies were, in no conceivable sense, 'one people.' 
They owed, indeed, allegiance to the British king, as 
the head of each colonial government, and as forming 
a part thereof; but this allegiance was exclusive, in 
each colony, to its own government, and, consequently, 
to the king as the head thereof, and was not a common 
allegiance of the people of all the colonies, to a common 
head.* These colonial governments were clothed with 
the sovereign power of making laws, and of enforcing 
obedience to them, from their own people. The people 
of one colony owed no allegiance to the government of 
any other colony, and were not bound by its laws. The 
colonies had no common legislature, no common trea- 
sury, no common military power, no common judica- 
tory. The people of one colony were not liable to pay 
taxes to any other colony, nor to bear arms in its de- 
fence; they had no right to vote in its elections; no 
influence nor control in its municipal government, no 
interest in its municipal institutions. There was no 
prescribed form by which the colonies could act to- 
gether for any purpose whatever; they were not known 
as 'one people' in any one function of government. 
Although they were all, alike, dependencies of the 
British crown, yet, even in the action of the parent 
country, in regard to them, they were recognised as 
separate and distinct. They were established at dif- 
ferent times, and each under an authority from the 
crown, which applied to itself alone. They were not 
even alike in their organization. Some were provin- 
cial, some proprietary, and some charter governments. 
Each derived its form of government from the particular 
instrument establishing it, or from assumptions of power 
acquiesced in by the crown, without any connection 
with, or relation to, any other. They stood upon the 
same footing, in every respect, with other British colo- 

* The resolutions of Virginia, in 1796, show that she con- 
sidered herself merely as an appendage of the British crown; 
that her legislature was alone authorized to tax her; and that she 
had a right to call on her king, who was also king of England, 
to protect her against the usurpations of the British parliament. 



436 

nies, with nothing to distinguish their relation either to 
the parent country or to one another. The charter of 
any one of them might have been destroyed, without 
in any manner affecting the rest. In point of fact, the 
charters of nearly all of them were altered, from time 
to time, and the whole character of their governments 
changed. These changes were made in each colony 
for itself alone, sometimes by its own action, sometimes 
by the power and authority of the crown; but never by 
the joint agency of any other colony, and never with 
reference to the wishes or demands of any other colony. 
Thus they were separate and distinct in their creation; 
separate and distinct in the forms of their governments; 
separate and distinct in the changes and modifications 
of their governments, which were made from time to 
time; separate and distinct in political functions, in 
political rights, and in political duties." pp. 12 — 16. 

7& ?£ ?£ t^ t£ tf 

"In farther illustration of this point, let us suppose 
that some one of the colonies had refused to unite in 
the declaration of independence; what relation would 
it then have held to the others ? Not having disclaimed 
its allegiance to the British crown, it would still have 
continued to be a British colony, subject to the authority 
of the parent country, in all respects as before. Could 
the other colonies have compelled it to unite with them 
in their revolutionary purposes, on the ground that it 
was part and parcel of the 'one people,' known as the 
people of the colonies ? No such right was ever claimed, 
or dreamed of, and it will scarcely be contended for 
now, in the face of the known history of the time. Such 
recusant colony would have stood precisely as did the 
Canadas, and every other part of the British empire. 
The colonies, which "had declared war, would have con- 
sidered its people as enemies, but would not have had 
a right to treat them as traitors, or as disobedient citi- 
zens, resisting their authority. To what purpose, then, 
were the people of the colonies 'one people,' if, in a case 
so important to the common welfare, there was no right 
in all the people together, to coerce the members of 



437 

their own community to the performance of a common 
duty ? 

"It is thus apparent that the people of the colonies were 
not 'one people,' as to any purpose involving allegiance 
on the one hand, or protection on the other. What, then, 
I again ask, are the 'many purposes' to which the author 
alludes? Itiscertainlyincumbenton him whoasserts this 
identity against the inferences most naturally, deducible 
from the historical facts, to show at what time, by what 
process, and for what purposes it was effected. He claims 
too much consideration for his personal authority, when 
he requires his readers to reject the plain information 
of history in favour of his bare assertion. The charters 
of the colonies prove no identity between them, but the 
reverse; and it has already been shown that this identity 
is not the necessary result of their common relation to 
the mother country. By what other means they came 
to be 'one,' in any intelligible and political sense, it 
remains for the author to explain. 

"If these views of the subject be not convincing, the 
author himself has furnished proof, in all needful abun- 
dance, of the incorrectness of his own conclusion. He 
tells us that 'though the colonies had a common origin, 
and owed a common allegiance, and the inhabitants of 
each were British subjects, they had no direct political 
connection with each other. Each was independent of 
all the others; each, in a limited sense, was sovereign 
within its own territory. There was neither alliance 
nor confederacy between them. The assembly of one 
province could not make laws for another, nor confer 
privileges which were to be enj-oyed or exercised in 
another, farther than they could be in any independent 
foreign state. As colonics, they were also excluded 
from all connection with foreign states. They were 
known only as dependencies, and they followed the 
fate of the parent country, both in peace and war, with- 
out having assigned to them, in the intercourse or diplo- 
macy of nations, any distinct or independent existence. 
They did not possess the power of forming any league 
or treaty among themselves, which would acquire any 
obligatory force, without the assent of the parent slate. 
37* 






438 

And though their mutual wants and necessities often 
induced them to associate for common purposes of de- 
fence, these confederacies were of a casual and tem- 
porary nature, and were allowed as an indulgence, 
rather than as a right. They made several efforts to 
procure the establishment of some general superintend- 
ing government over them all; but their own differences 
of opinion, as well as the jealousy of the crown, made 
these efforts abortive.' 

"The English language affords no terms stronger 
than those which are here used to convey the idea of 
separateness, distinctness, and independence among the 
colonies. No commentary could make the description 
plainer, or more full and complete. The unity, con- 
tended for by the author, nowhere appears, but is dis- 
tinctly disaffirmed in every sentence. The colonies 
were not only distinct in their creation, and in the 
powers and faculties of their governments, but there 
was not even 'an alliance or confederacy between them. 5 
They had no 'general superintending government over 
them all,' and tried in vain to establish one. Each was 
'independent of all the others,' having its own legisla- 
ture, and without power to confer either right or privi- 
lege beyond its own territory. 'Each, in a limited 
sense, was sovereign within its own territory;' and, to 
sum up all in a single sentence, 'they had no direct 
political connection with each other !' The condition 
of the colonies was, indeed, anomalous, if our author's 
view of it be correct. They presented the singular 
spectacle of 'one people,' or political corporation, the 
members of which had 'no direct political cormection 
with each other,' and who had not the power to form 
such connection, even 'by league or treaty among them- 
selves.' 

"This brief review will, it is believed, be sufficient 
to convince the reader that our author has greatly mis- 
taken the real condition and relation of the colonies, in 
supposing that they formed 'one people,' in any sense, 
or for any purpose whatever. He is entitled to credit, 
however, for the candour with which he has stated the 
historical facts. Apart from all other sources of in- 
formation, his book affords to every reader abundant 



439 

materials for the formation of his own opinion, and for 
enabling him to decide satisfactorily whether the au- 
thor's inferences from the facts, which he himself has 
stated, be warranted by them or not." 

Judge Story, as if aware that he had not incontesta- 
bly established his fundamental proposition, (though he 
does not hint a doubt of the sufficiency of his proofs,) 
goes into a history of the political action of the states 
during the revolution; the object of which appears to 
be, to prove, that if the states did not form a body 
politic, before the commencement of that contest, they 
became one in the progress of it. Here, too, our author 
meets and refutes him. 

"In the execution of the second division of his plan, 
very little was required of the author, either as an his- 
torian or as a commentator. Accordingly, he has al- 
luded but slightly to the condition of the colonies 
during the existence of the revolutionary government, 
and has sketched with great rapidity, yet sufficiently in 
detail, the rise, decline and fall of the confederation. 
Even here, however, he has fallen into some errors, 
and has ventured to express decisive and important 
opinions, without due warrant. The desire to make 
'the people of the United States' one consolidated na- 
tion is so strong and predominant, that it breaks forth, 
often uncalled for, in every part of his work. He 
tells us that the first congress of the revolution was 'a 
general or national government;' that it 'was organized 
under the auspices and with the consent of the people, 
acting directly in their primary, sovereign capacity, and 
without the intervention of the functionaries to whom 
the ordinary powers of government were delegated in 
the colonies.' He acknowledges that the powers of this 
congress were but ill-defined; that many of them were 
exercised by mere usurpation, and were acquiesced in 
by the people, only from the confidence reposed in the 
wisdom and patriotism of its members, and because 
there was no proper opportunity, during the pressure 
of the war, to raise nice questions of the power of go- 
vernment. And yet he infers, from the exercise of 
powers thus ill-defined, and, in great part, usurped, 



440 

that 'from the moment of" the declaration of indepen- 
dence, if not for most purposes at an antecedent period, 
the united colonies must be considered as being a nation 
de facto, &c.' 

"A very slight attention to the history of the times 
will place this subject in its true light. The colo- 
nies complained of oppressions from the mother coun- 
try, and were anxious to derive some means by which 
their grievances might be redressed. These grievances 
were common to all of them; for England made no dis- 
crimination between them, in the general course of her 
colonial policy. Their rights, as British subjects, had 
never been well defined; and some of the most im- 
portant of those rights, as asserted by themselves, had 
been denied by the British crown. As early as 1765, 
a majority of the colonies had met together in congress, 
or convention, in New York, for the purpose of delibe- 
rating on these grave matters of common concern; and 
they then made a formal declaration of what they con- 
sidered their rights, as colonists and British subjects. 
This measure, however, led to no redress of their 
grievances. On the contrary, the subsequent measures 
of the British government gave new and just causes of 
complaint; so that, in 1774, it was deemed necessary 
that the colonies should again meet together, in order 
to consult upon their general condition, and provide for 
the safety of their common rights. Hence the con- 
gress which met at Carpenter's Hall, in Philadelphia, 
on the 5th of September, 1774. It consisted of dele- 
gates from New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay, Rhode 
Island, and Providence Plantations, Connecticut, from 
the city arid county of New York, and other counties in 
the province of New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, 
Newcastle, Kent und Sussex in Delaware, Maryland, 
Virginia and South Carolina. North Carolina was not 
represented until the 14th September, and Georgia not 
at all. It is also apparent, that New York was not 
represented as a colony, but only through certain por- 
tions of her people; in like manner, Lyman Hall was 
admitted to his seat, in the succeeding congress, as a 
delegate from the parish of St. John's, in Georgia, 



441 

although he declined to vote on any question requiring 
a majority of the colonies to carry it, because he was 
not the representative of a colony. This congress passed 
a variety of important resolutions, between September, 
1774, and the 22nd October, in the same year; during all 
which time Georgia was not represented at all; for even 
the parish of St. John's did not appoint a representa- 
tive till May 1775. In point of fact, the congress was 
a deliberative and advisory body, and nothing more; 
and, for this reason, it was not deemed important, or, 
at least, not indispensable, that all the colonies should 
be represented, since the resolutions of congress had 
no obligatory force whatever. It was appointed for the 
sole purpose of taking into consideration the general 
condition of the colonies, and of devising and recom- 
mending proper measures for the security of their 
rights and interests. For these objects no precise 
powers and instructions were necessary, and beyond 
them none were given. Neither does it appear that 
any precise time was assigned for the duration of con- 
gress. The duty with which it was charged was ex- 
tremely simple; and it was taken for granted that it 
would dissolve itself as soon as that duty should be 
performed. 

"It is perfectly apparent that the mere appointment 
of this congress did not make the people of all the co- 
lonies 'one people,' nor 'a nation de facto,'' All the 
colonies did not unite in the appointment, neither as 
colonies nor by any portion of their people acting in 
their primary assemblies, as has already been shown. 
The colonies were not independent, and had not even 
resolved to declare themselves so at any future time. 
On the contrary, they were extremely desirous to pre- 
serve and continue their connection with the parent 
country, and congress was charged with the duty of 
devising such measures aswould enable them to do so, 
without involving a surrender of their rights as British 
subjects. It is equally clear, that the powers with 
which congress was clothed, did not flow from, nor 
constitute 'one people,' or 'nation de facto? and that 
that body was not 4 a general or national government,' 



442 

nor a government of any kind whatever. The exist- 
ence of such government was absolutely inconsistent 
with the allegiance which the colonies still acknow- 
ledged to the British crown. Our author himself in- 
forms us, in a passage already quoted, that they had no 
power to form such government, nor to enter into 'any 
league or treaty among themselves.' Indeed, congress 
did not claim any legislative power whatever, nor could 
it have done so, consistently with the political relations 
which the colonies still acknowledged and desired to 
preserve. Its acts were in the form of resolutions, and 
not in the form of laws; it recommended to its consti- 
tuents whatever it believed to be for their advantage, 
but it commanded nothing. Each colony, and the peo- 
ple thereof, were at perfect liberty to act upon such 
recommendation or not, as they might think proper. 

"On the 22nd October, 1774, this congress dissolved 
itself, having recommended to the several colonies to 
appoint delegates to another congress, to be held in 
Philadelphia in the following May. Accordingly dele- 
gates were chosen, as they had been chosen to the pre- 
ceding congress, each colony and the people thereof 
acting for themselves, and by themselves; and the dele- 
gates thus chosen were clothed with substantially the 
same powers, for precisely the same objects, as in the 
former congress. Indeed, it could not have been other- 
wise; for the relations of the colonies were still un- 
changed, and any measure establishing 'a general or 
national government,' or uniting the colonies so as to 
constitute them 'a nation de facto,'' would have been an 
act of open rebellion, and would have severed at once 
all the ties which bound them to the mother country, 
and which they were still anxious to preserve. New 
York was represented in this congress precisely as she 
had been in the former one, that is, by delegates chosen 
by a part of her people; for the royal party was so 
strong in that colony, that it would have been impossi- 
ble to obtain from the legislature an expression of 
approbation of any measure of resistance to British au- 
thority. The accession of Georgia to the general asso- 
ciation was not made known till the 20th of July, and 



443 

her delegates did not take their seats till the 13th of 
September. In the mean time congress had proceeded 
in the discharge of its duties, and some of its most im- 
portant acts, and among the rest the appointment of a 
commander-in-chief of their armies, were performed 
while those two colonies were unrepresented. Its acts, 
like those of the former congress, were in the form of 
resolution and recommendation; for as it still held out 
the hope of reconciliation with the parent country, it 
did not venture to assume the function of authoritative 
legislation. It continued to hold this attitude and to 
act in this mode till the 4th of July, 1776, when it de- 
clared that the colonies there represented (including 
New York, which had acceded after the battle of Lex- 
ington,) were, and of right ought to be, free and inde- 
pendent states." pp. 16 — 25. 

"The author's conclusion is not better sustained by 
the nature and extent of the powers exercised by the 
revolutionary government. It has already been stated, 
that no original powers of legislation were granted to 
the congresses of 1774 and 1775; and it is only from 
their acts that we can determine what powers they 
actually exercised. The circumstances under which 
they were called into existence precluded the possibility 
of any precise limitations of their powers, even if it 
Miad been designed to clothe them with the functions of 
government. The colonies were suffering under com- 
mon oppressions, and were threatened with common 
dangers, from the mother country. The great object 
which they had in view was to produce that concert of 
action among themselves which would best enable them 
to resist their common enemy and best secure the safety 
and liberties of all. Great confidence must necessarily 
be reposed in public rulers, under circumstances of this 
sort. We may well suppose, therefore, that the revo- 
lutionary government exercised every power which ap- 
peared to be necessary for the successful prosecution 
of the great contest in which they were engaged; and 
we may, with equal propriety, suppose that neither the 
people nor the colonial governments felt any disposition 
to scrutinize very narrowly any measure which pro- 



444 

mised protection and safety to themselves. They knew 
that the government was temporary only; that it was 
permitted only for a particular and temporary object, 
and that they could, at any time, recall any and every 
power which it had assumed. It would be a violent 
and forced inference, from the powers of such an 
agency, (for it was not a government, although I have 
sometimes, for convenience, called it so,) however 
great they might be, to say that the people, or states, 
which established it, meant thereby to merge their dis- 
tinctive character, to surrender all the rights and privi- 
leges which belonged to them as separate communities, 
and to consolidate themselves into one nation. 

"In point of fact, however, there was nothing in the 
powers exercised by the revolutionary government, so 
far as they can be known from their acts, inconsistent 
with the perfect sovereignty and independence of the 
states. These were always admitted in terms, and were 
never denied in practice. So far as external relations 
were concerned, congress seems to have exercised every 
power of a supreme government. They assumed the 
right to 'declare war and to make peace; to authorize 
captures; to institute appellate prize courts; to direct 
and control all national, military and naval operations; 
to form alliances, and make treaties; to contract debts 
and issue bills of credit on national account.' These 
powers were not 'exclusive,' however, as our author 
supposes. On the contrary, troops were raised, ves- 
sels of war were commissioned, and various military 
operations were conducted by the colonies, on their 
own separate means and authority. Ticonderoga was 
taken by the troops of Connecticut, before the declara- 
tion of independence; Massachusetts and Connecticut 
fitted out armed vessels to cruise against those of Eng- 
land, in October, 1775; South Carolina soon followed 
their example. In 1776, New Hampshire authorized 
her executive to issue letters of marque and reprisal. 

"These instances are selected out of many, as suffi- 
cient to show that in the conduct of war congress pos- 
sessed no 'exclusive' power, and that the colonies (or 
states) retained, and actually asserted, their own sove- 



445 

reign right and power as to that matter. And not as to 
that matter alone, for New Hampshire established post 
offices. The words of our author may, indeed, import 
that the power of congress over the subject of war was 
exclusive only as to such military and naval operations 
as he considers national, that is, such as were under- 
taken by the joint power of all the colonies; and if so, 
he is correct. But the comma after the word 'national,' 
suggests a different interpretation. At all events, the 
facts which I have mentioned prove that congress exer- 
cised no power which was considered as abridging the 
absolute sovereignty and independence of the states. 

"Many of those powers which, for greater conve- 
nience, were entrusted exclusively to congress, could 
not be effectually exerted except by the aid of the state 
authorities. The troops required by congress were 
raised by the states, and the commissions of their offi- 
cers were countersigned by the governors of the states. 
Congress were allowed to issue bills of credit, but they 
could not make them a legal tender, nor punish the 
counterfeiter of them. Neither could they bind the 
states to redeem them, nor raise by their own authority 
the necessary funds for that purpose. Congress re- 
ceived ambassadors and other public ministers, yet they 
had no power to extend to them that protection which 
they receive from the government of every sovereign 
nation. A man by the name of De Longchamps entered 
the house of the French minister plenipotentiary in 
Philadelphia, and there threatened violence to the per- 
son of Francis Barbe Marbois, secretary of the French 
legation, consul general of France, and consul for the 
state of Pennsylvania; he afterwards assaulted and beat 
him in the public street. For this offence, he was in- 
dicted and tried in the court of Oyer and Terminer of 
Philadelphia , and punished under its sentence. The 
case turned chiefly upon the law of nations, with refer- 
ence to the protection which it secures to foreign mi- 
nisters. A question was made, whether the authorities 
of Pennsylvania should not deliver up De Longchamps 
to the French government to be dealt with at their 
pleasure. It does not appear that the federal govern- 
38 



446 

ment was considered to possess any power over the 
subject, or that it was deemed proper to invoke its 
counsel or authority in any form. This case occurred 
in 1784, after the adoption of the articles of confedera- 
tion; but if the powers of the federal government were 
less under those articles than before, it only proves that, 
however great its previous powers may have been, they 
were held at. the will of the states, and were actually 
recalled by the articles of confederation. Thus it ap- 
pears that, in the important functions of raising an 
army, of providing a public revenue, of paying public 
debts, and giving security to the persons of foreign 
ministers, the boasted 'sovereignty' of the federal go- 
vernment was merely nominal, and owed its entire 
efficiency to the co-operation and aid of the state go- 
vernments. Congress had no power to coerce those 
governments; nor Could it exercise any direct authority 
over their individual citizens. 

"Although the powers actually assumed and exer- 
cised by congress were certainly very great, they were 
not always acquiesced ,in, or allowed by the states. 
Thus, the power to lay an embargo was earnestly de- 
sired by them, but was denied by the states. And, in 
order the more clearly to indicate that many of their 
powers were exercised merely by sufferance, and at the 
same time to lend a sanction to their authority so far 
as they chose to allow it, it was deemed necessary, by 
at least one of the states, to pass laws indemnifying 
those who might act in obedience to the resolutions of 
that body."* pp. 30—33. 

Our introductory remarks, which we cannot prevail 
on ourselves to retrench^ have been so unexpectedly 
extended , and our extracts have been necessarily so long, 
that we have no room to accompany the author in his 
discussion of other questions, which arise between him 
and Judge Story. But, in truth, the root of the matter 
is in the first point, (the one-nessof the United States.) 
If Judge Story is right in this, he is right throughout; 

* This was done by Pennsylvania.— See 2 Dallas' Col. L. of 
Penn. 3. 



447 

and, if constrained to concede this one point, we would 
hardly think it worth while to dispute any of the rest, 
or, indeed, to question or strive against any power he 
might claim for his overshadowing colossus of cen- 
tralism. 

The interest we take in this question must be our 
excuse for ottering one remark of our own, in aid of the 
arguments of the able writer, whom we are recommend- 
ing to the favourable attention of the public. 

The writers of the "Federalist" were among the 
framers of the constitution, they undertook to expound 
and advocate it. They were the most extreme cen- 
tralists of their day, and their authority against cen- 
tralism should be conclusive. 

In arguing in favour of the constitution, they recom- 
mend it, not only for the good that was in it, but for the 
evil that was to be avoided. What was that evil ? It 
is not worth while to cite particular passages. The 
work may be quoted passim, for passages, in which the 
consequences of rejecting the proposed constitution are 
vividly depicted. What are these ? Are the people 
ever told, that the whole population of the continent 
would tumble together into one confused and unsocial 
mass, in which all, who wish to establish again the do- 
minion of law and order, would have to seek out asso- 
ciates, like-minded with themselves, and form new 
bodies politic, of which the local habitation, the boun- 
daries and the name were yet to be ascertained ? No 
such thing. They say, distinctly, that Virginia would 
be Virginia still, and Massachusetts, Massachusetts still; 
and then discuss the probability whether New York, and 
Pennsylvania, and Maryland would league themselves 
together, against their neighbours, both on the south and 
on the north, or seek to ally themselves with the one or 
the other. How could these things be so, if these states 
owed their political existence (as they then existed) to 
the confederation, or to the constitution, or to any 
imaginable exercise of the common will of the univer- 
sal and comprehensive body politic? Yet, they were 
either the creatures of the constitution, or its creators. 
Which were they ? 



448 

On the whole, we venture to recommend this work 
to the attentive perusal of all; and, especially to the 
favourable regard of anti-central, or states' rights men, 
into whatever party they may have fallen, during the 
late political struggle. If they will study it diligently, 
they will see that the fundamental principle of their 
creed is common to them all, and should hold them all 
together. That is not divided any more than "Christ is 
divided;" and he who says "I am of Paul," and he who 
says "I am of Apollos," alike betrays his cause. He 
who upholds the sovereignty of the states, is on our side. 
He who assails this, is against us — even though, the 
moment before, we had fought, shoulder to shoulder, 
against a common enemy. 



LECTURE XXII. 

Delivered to the Law Class of William and Mary Col- 
lege, June 17, 1839, being the last of a Course of 
Lectures on the Philosophy of Government and Con- 
stitutional Law. 

I know not, gentlemen, whether a desire to recall 
some of the thoughts presented in the course of lec- 
tures which I am about to conclude, is suggested by a 
sense of duty to you or to myself. It may be due to 
both. Among you, I flatter myself, there are some 
whose partial friendship might dispose them to adopt 
my opinions with too much confidence. These, I am 
especially bound to guard against any evil consequences 
of a sentiment which so justly deserves my gratitude. 
On the other hand, it has been often my duty to present 
considerations favourable to opinions which my own 
mind does not decidedly adopt; and in the minds of 
those who reject them I may stand charged with errors 
from which I am free. 

In the progress of these lectures, I have endeavoured 
to guard against both of these evils. You will remem- 



449 

ber, that, in the outset, I said, that I would not flatter 
you with a promise, that political truths which have 
eluded the investigations of the most candid and en- 
lightened of all ages, should be laid open to you. These 
words were perhaps understood, at the moment, as the 
mere common-place of modesty — real or affected. But 
they had a far deeper meaning. They were uttered under 
a conviction, which all subsequent investigation and 
reflection have but confirmed, that researches into the 
philosophy of government, promise, at best, but an ap- 
proximation to truth; and that, to him whose mind 
cannot be brought to rest content in doubt, they promise 
nothing at all. If there be any such among you, he will 
be sensible that he has derived no benefit from me. The 
only service I could have rendered such a one, would 
have been to effect such a change in the temper and 
disposition of his mind, as to prepare him to enter, an 
humble and teachable pupil, in the school of experience. 
If I have failed in this, I have failed in every thing. 
With such, I fear, I am particularly liable to miscon- 
struction. To such, every suggestion calculated to 
throw a doubt on any cherished opinion, might seem 
like the avowal of the opposite opinion. In politics, as 
in religion, to him whose comfort requires an infallible 
guide, any doubt of his infallibility seems equivalent to 
a direct contradiction of all his doctrines. To the bigot, 
all others are bigots. To doubt, is bigotry. To hesi- 
tate — to pause and reflect, is bigotry. All who are not 
for him, are against him, and he against them. 

Against this uncandid temper — the parent of so much 
error, so much faction, strife, contention, and bitterness 
of heart — my labours have been particularly directed. 
It is a temper that can serve no purpose but to make 
him who cherishes it the ready instrument of party, the 
easy tool of any who will repeat his creed, and "tickle 
his ear with the plausible formulas which he habitually 
receives as compends of political truth. At the same 
time he is ready to denounce all who will not repeat 
this creed and these formulas. Hence, men distin- 
guished for that thoughtful sobriety of understanding 
which reflects patiently and judges wisely, can have no 
38* 



450 

place in his confidence. He has reduced the science of 
government to a system of maxims, and the man who 
hesitates to adopt any one of them, is set down in his 
mind as devoted to another system, the opposite of his 
in all things. Thus it is, that the discreet and con- 
scientious are condemned by bigots and system makers 
of all parties; and thus it is, that the affairs of nations 
are given up to the blundering misrule of the rash and 
unscrupulous, while the men most competent to manage 
them are condemned to inaction and obscurity. Be- 
longing to no party, they are charged with the sins and 
errors of all parties. Having the wisdom to perceive 
that they do not know every thing, they are set down 
by the confident and presumptuous as knowing no- 
thing. 

This is no enviable lot; yet I frankly confess to you, 
that the aim of all' my instructions has been to dispose 
and qualify you to take your place among these. These 
are, after all, the salt of the earth. Were such men 
more common, mutual support might ensure them more 
respect, and their numbers might give them conse- 
quence and authority. To increase their number would 
be to render the state the most important service. 
Something like this is the object I have had in view. 
But you will see, gentlemen, that it is at your expense 
that I have proposed to accomplish it. I have sought 
to enlist you in a forlorn hope, where you may have to 
sacrifice every thing in a strenuous effort to serve your 
country, it may be, in spite of herself. But I have not 
sought to beguile you into a service so desperate. I have 
offered neither pay nor bounty; neither the emoluments 
of office, nor the applause of your contemporaries. I 
have not taught you to hope the countenance of any 
party, nor the favour of any leader. I have told you, 
as I tell you now, the naked and unvarnished truth, 
and admonished you in the outset, that if you wish to 
win your way to power and distinction by the arts of 
the demagogue and partizan, you should avoid this 
place. 

I have been aware, that in a system of instruction 
adapted to these ideas, there can be nothing to make it 



451 

popular. This, too, I have already told you. But it 
is not my business to study popularity, but truth. I am 
fully aware, that by him who is eager after knowledge, 
rash confidence is preferred as a guide before sober 
doubt; that to most men specious error is far more pala- 
table than unseemly truth 5 and that the safest opinions 
are those which are most current. 

Here, gentlemen, is one of the inconveniences that 
attends the study of political science. In physics, in 
mathematics, and even in morals, investigation is 
stimulated and encouraged by the honours which await 
him who discovers a new truth, or detects an esta- 
blished error. Such are the foundations of that fame 
which renders immortal the names of Bacon and New- 
ton, and promises the same reward to the men whose 
researches, in our day, have penetrated so deeply into 
all the mysteries of nature. With this honour in pros- 
pect, the philosopher addresses himself to his task as 
one who seeks for hidden treasure. If he fails, he can 
but die and be forgotten. But if he succeeds, he se- 
cures for himself a name among the benefactors of man- 
kind. 

Far different is the lot of him who devotes himself 
to the investigation of political science. That which is 
immortality to others may be death to him. He follows 
after truth, as one who tracks an enemy that may turn 
and destroy him. He will do more to advance his fame 
by devising specious sophisms in defence of vulgar 
errors, than by the discovery of a new truth, which, 
being new, must clash with opinions consecrated by 
prejudice, and sanctioned by the authority of numbers. 

Thus it is, that each country has its own political 
creed, which no man dares assail. So true is this, that, 
turn where you will, you will find the prevalent opi- 
nion of every people, favourable, in the main, to their 
own institutions. Abuses may indeed be perceived; 
but, for the most part, radical defects are mistaken for 
abuses. The spirit of revolution, too, sometimes sug- 
gests innovation and change; but, in the calm and 
healthy condition of every community, the beau ideal 
of a perfect government seems to each something not 



. 452 

widely different from its own. The authority of num- 
bers is no evidence that any of these is right; for, num- 
bers decide one way in a republic, and another way in 
a monarchy. Precisely thus, at this moment, do the 
most enlightened men of the two most enlightened coun- 
tries in the world differ from each other. Yet in each 
the authority of numbers supervises the researches of 
the political philosopher; and the love of fame, which 
is the incentive to all other investigations, does but 
awaken a more lively dread of the scourge with which 
public opinion stands prepared to punish the unlucky 
discoverer of any unpalatable truth. 

You will see, gentlemen, that if, like most men, I 
have a zeal for my art, I take a poor way to recommend 
it. It might, perhaps, be thought that the ideas I have 
just suggested, are at the bottom of the doubting and 
undecided character of almost every thing that I have 
said to you. But though it may seem safer to doubt 
than to err, yet this idea is often deceptive. Error may 
be condemned; and truth may pass for error. But he 
who teaches either, will not stand alone. He will 
always have some to concur with and countenance him. 
But he who doubts has all the world against him. He 
is at the centre of the magnetic card, and there is no 
point of the compass from which he does not appear to 
be at the opposite edge of the horizon. He will not 
even obtain the praise of candour. To question the 
perfection of the institutions of his own country, is, at 
home, supposed to indicate a secret preference for a 
government as different as possible: while abroad, he is 
regarded in every nation, as having a glimmering per- 
ception of the excellence of the institutions of that 
particular nation, without daring to avow it. 

You see, then, gentlemen, that the temper of mind 
which I have endeavoured to inspire, is, of all, the most 
unfavourable to popularity and advancement. But the 
end is not yet. We do not live for ourselves, nor even 
for our contemporaries alone. 'Diis immortatibus sero,' 
was the noble saying of the aged Roman, as his gray 
hairs fell over the'plough, while putting in a crop which 
he could not live to reap. Our country is not a thing 



453 

of a day: and fame is immortal. And remember, gen- 
tlemen, that they whose speculations on government 
have purchased for them an interest in that immortal 
thing, are they whose respect for the opinions of their 
countrymen, did not deter them from correcting their 
errors and rebuking their prejudices. To those who 
may be disposed to accompany me in the study of poli- 
tical science in this spirit, I am bound, in candour, to 
say, in the words of the apostle, that "if in this life only 
we have hope, we are, of all men, the most miserable." 
Our doubts, if unreasonable, will only excite contempt; 
if well founded they will provoke the resentment of 
those whose rashness and errors they rebuke. How 
many venture into public service, with no qualification, 
save only a presumptuous ignorance, unconscious of 
those mysteries in the science of government, which 
the wisest explore in vain ! Deprive such men of their 
ill-founded confidence, by opening their eyes to see the 
difficulties and dangers that beset the statesman's path, 
and you leave them nothing. And how can we hope 
the forgiveness of such, who, deeming themselves wise, 
are awakened from their delusion, but to find that they 
"are poor, and miserable, and blind, and naked ?" No- 
thing in short, can be more unthankful than the task of 
him who would couch the eyes of such, as being blind, 
yet fancy that they see. 

I have not meant to intimate, gentlemen, that every 
part of political science is alike involved in mystery and 
paradox. I have had no difficulty in teaching you, that 
the great principles which lie at the foundations of all 
free institutions, are unquestionably true. The primi- 
tive equality of man, and the right of each individual 
to live exempt from all human authority, to which he 
has not consented to submit, either by express com- 
pact, or by legitimate and fair implication, cannot be 
taught more unequivocally by any than they have been 
by myself. 

But, when we trace this primitive equality to the in- 
equalities which grow out of it, and furnish the measure 
of its value — when we begin to inquire, on the one hand, 
how far regulations in derogation and curtailment of 



454 

these adscititious advantages, can be reconciled to the 
respect due to that principle of original equality out 
of which they grow, and, on the other, how far the 
ulterior preservation of essential equality may be en- 
dangered by the unqualified allowance of these advan- 
tages, we enter on questions full of difficulty and 
doubt. 

So, too, of the right of self-government. This I have 
affirmed; and I go farther, and affirm also, man's capa- 
city for self-government. But do I affirm this of all 
men — everywhere — under all conditions — and in all cir- 
cumstances? Assuredly no ! It is not true of the igno- 
rant, the vicious, the licentious, the self-indulgent. It 
is not true of any who are not willing to take security 
against themselves, by self-imposed restraints on will 
and appetite. The man who affirms of himself, that he 
is capable of regulating his own conduct, and who, 
therefore, refuses to acknowledge the authority of any 
moral code, gives proof against himself of the false- 
hood of his pretensions. We know this to be true of 
individuals,* and it is yet more fearfully true of men in 
great masses. It has been aptly said, that freedom in 
multitudes is power* and in multitudes not under the 
regulated discipline of fixed principles and self-imposed 
restraints, it is power in its most formidable aspect. 
Opinion restrains the abuse of power in an individual; 
but power in multitudes, makes for itself what is easily 
mistaken for the opinion of the world. There is nothing 
so ruthless, nothing so dead, alike to conscience and to 
shame, as a licentious crowd unrestrained by authority. 

When we come, then, to inquire how far the present 
enjoyment of liberty may consist with those conven- 
tional and self-imposed limitations on the right of self- 
government, which may be necessary to its preservation, 
we enter on a task which any man may well tremble to 
undertake. To him who would dogmatize here, the 
adjustment of the balance between those powers, con- 
tending yet harmonious, on which the order of the 
planetary system depends, would seem an easy pro- 
blem. The countless worlds, revolving, each in its ap- 
pointed path, implicitly obeying the law impressed on 



455 

them at creation. Not so the moral universe, the world 
of will and passion. With these the Omnipotent him- 
self must parley; tolerating much present evil for the 
sake of ultimate and greater good; yielding that he may 
conquer. When we say, that no man can confidently 
decide how far a people jealous of the right of self-go- 
vernment should voluntarily limit its exercise, we do 
but affirm that human institutions are subject to the 
necessity inhering in the nature of things, which is one 
of the conditions of the moral government of the uni- 
verse. Step forth, philosopher! you have discovered 
the great arcanum! — you who have ascertained how best 
to reconcile the present enjoyment of happiness with its 
perpetuity; the present exercise of freedom with secu- 
rity against its tendencies to self-destruction! — step 
forth, and read a lesson to the Most High! He shall 
hear you gladly! He shall descend from the throne of 
his power, and, taking the place of the learner, shall 
meekly seat himself at your feet! For my part, while 
I see the nature of all earthly blessings; while I mark 
their liability to perish in the using; while I witness the 
hard servitude of those who yield themselves to the do- 
minion of passion, I shall believe that none are capable 
of freedom, who are not "disposed to put moral chains 
upon their own appetites, and who are not more in- 
clined to listen to the counsels of the wise and good, 
than to the flattery of knaves." When, therefore, the 
question arises, "what does wisdom teach, and what 
are the proper and salutary restraints to be imposed?" 
I am not ashamed to be baffled by a difficulty which for 
six thousand years has tasked the resources of almighty 
Power and all seeing Wisdom. The discipline of life, — 
the hopes of heaven, — the terrors of hell, — all have 
been employed to this end, and its accomplishment is 
yet remote. 

" He is a freeman whom the truth makes free;" 

and the truth that thus emancipates him, is that which 
teaches that there is no freedom for him, in whom there 
is not an abiding disposition to bring appetite and pas- 
sion under the dominion of fixed laws, whose authority 






456 

freedom must not dare to question. To him who is not 
content to be free on these terms, "chains under dark- 
ness" is the appointed lot in this world, as in the next. 
To this the Word of God and the experience of all 
mankind alike bear witness. This is all that can be 
known with certainty. This is the truth, from which 
the wisest of ancient sages learned that he knew nothing. 
Beyond this all is darkness. On the unsearchable 
mystery which lies buried in the depths of that impene- 
trable abyss of night, we can but muse and marvel at 
the presumption which pretends to have fathomed it. 
But while the pride of human wisdom stands thus re- 
buked, we find consolation in the thought, that the truth 
which thus baffles our researches, is of the number of 
"the hidden things that belong to God." To him we 
leave it. 

But it is not alone of the great fundamental princi- 
ples common to all free institutions, that I have ven- 
tured to speak with confidence. In the application of 
these principles to our own institutions, we have the 
aid of lights sufficiently clear to guide us to certain 
conclusions. 

Thus, when we affirm, "that man has a right to live 
exempt from all human authority, to which he has not 
consented to submit, either by express compact, or by 
legitimate and fair implication," we perceive the neces- 
sity of showing the evidences of that consent, in virtue 
of which we ourselves are governed. Here we speak 
from the record, and we speak boldly. We find the 
charter which, more than two hundred years ago, con- 
stituted Virginia a body politic. We find the unani- 
mous declaration of all the members of that body, so- 
lemnly proclaimed, sixty-three years ago, "that all 
power is vested in, and consequently derived from, the 
people; that magistrates are their trustees and servants, 
and at all times amenable to them; and that, when go- 
vernment shall be found inadequate to their happiness 
and safety, a majority of the community hath an indu- 
bitable, unalienable and indefeasible right to reform, 
alter or abolish it, in such manner as shall be judged 
most conducive to the common weal." 



457 

These propositions, thus affirmed by all whom it con- 
cerned, are true, because they have affirmed them, if 
for no other reason. They form the basis of the com- 
pact which they prefaced, and aftbrd a clew to its inter- 
pretation. Guided by this, we arrive at the conclusion, 
that sovereignty, whether sleeping or awake, whether 
active or in repose, is in the people: that sovereignty 
cannot, therefore, be rightly predicated of any govern- 
ment; and that where there is no people, there is no 
sovereignty. 

Proceeding on these principles to analyze the struc- 
ture of that great federal compact, which is the talisman 
of security, power, prosperity, and happiness to the 
people of these states, I have shown you the recorded 
evidence of its binding authority over you. I have laid 
before you the solemn act of Virginia, declaring "her 
assent and ratification of that instrument," and her 
mandate announcing to all whom it might concern that 
it is binding upon her people. I have thus endeavoured 
to impress on your minds the conviction, that in giving 
your respect to the functionaries, and your obedience to 
the laws of the central government thereby established, 
you do but obey her; that you do this, because she has 
commanded it, and by no other authority; and that, 
should she ever think proper to revoke this mandate, 
her will, in that too, must be law to you. I have not 
presented those propositions as undisputed; but I have 
affirmed, that so long as we look to the record which 
alone witnesses of the obligation of the federal consti- 
tution; so long as we abide by the laiv and the testi- 
mony, they can never be rightfully or truly denied. 

I have urged these thoughts the more strenuously 
because on the clear and distinct recognition of these 
depends the preservation of our cherished Union. So 
long as the federal government is professedly a govern- 
ment of opinion, opinion will uphold it. But, let it 
claim to rule by force, and the question will presently 
arise, whether a free people can be governed by force. 
The answer to that question will be written in charac- 
ters of blood; and that answer, whatever it may be, 
must be fatal to union. The decision, thus made, must 
39 



458 

be followed by a violent disruption of the bond, and a 
separation of the inhabitants of this continent into a 
microcosm of petty states, weak factions and contemp- 
tible, or by the all pervading sway of one vast frightful 
consolidated despotism. 

Of the truth, then, or the value of the fundamental 
principles common to all free governments, and of those 
which are peculiar to our own, I would not have you 
doubt. But for the means of giving security and effi- 
cacy to these, I must be content to leave you to the 
teachings of that school of observation and experience, 
into which you will pass from this. There it is, gen- 
tlemen, that honours are to be conferred, which a gene- 
rous ambition well may covet. Of these, the parchment 
and the wax which you receive at our hands, are but 
the types; and, trust me, that your success in winning 
these higher honours, depends much less on what you 
may have learned here, than on your disposition to im- 
prove the lessons to be taught hereafter. Hence I have 
rather studied to establish this disposition in your 
minds, than to implant there even those most cherished 
opinions, which can never be eradicated from my own. 
By a different course, I might but have led you to con- 
clusions in which you might rest satisfied, forgetful of 
the arguments by which they had been deduced. You 
would thus only add yourselves to the number of those 
whose mouths are full of dogmas unsupported by rea- 
son, who, knowing nothing, claim to know everything, 
and render their ignorance more conspicuous, disgust- 
ing and offensive, by misapplied presumption. Where 
certainty is attainable, it may be criminal to doubt. In 
matters of high moral or political duty, it is always so. 
But on questions in which mere expediency is an im- 
portant condition, experience is the only teacher. If I 
have at any time forestalled the lessons of that faithful 
and candid instructor, I have done you wrong; and I 
beseech you, \n justice to yourselves, and to me, to en- 
deavour to divest your minds of all impressions, which 
you do not feel yourselves prepared to vindicate by 
reason. I should promise myself more honour from a 
pupil, who, dissenting from me, should be always found 
ready to give a reason for his faith, than from a hun- 



459 

dred who might answer, by the book, every question 
in a political catechism of my own framing, giving no 
reason and no authority but mine for his answers. My 
business has been to teach you to observe; to compare; 
to think; — and he who, applying my lessons, arrives at 
results different from my own, will do me credit with 
the wise and candid, even in exposing my errors. 

But I have proposed to myself a higher honour. 
When, instead of announcing an opinion, and enforcing 
it by argument, I lay before you the considerations that 
belong to both sides of any disputed question, or furnish 
your minds with thoughts and reflections susceptible of 
being variously applied by yourselves in the investiga- 
tion of more than one truth, I establish for myself a 
claim to some part of the credit of all you may discover 
or achieve. Not having been encouraged to sit down 
contented in a conclusion hastily adopted, you must 
remember the arguments for and against it, or you re- 
member nothing. Not having made- up your minds how 
to decide a question, you cannot cheat yourselves into 
the belief that you understand it. So long as it remains 
a subject of doubt with you, so long will you continue 
to meditate and reflect, and memory will tenaciously 
cling to every consideration, which, when first pre- 
sented, seemed to throw light upon the subject. Your 
opinions thus formed, will be your own; yet, while you 
enjoy the pleasure of having arrived at truth by your 
own researches, you will perhaps be ready to attribute 
your success in part to me. But though I may deceive 
myself in this, of one thing I am sure; that whenever 
experience may, at any time, convince you of the error 
of opinions too hastily adopted, you will at least exempt 
me from any part of the blame of that error. 

You see then, gentlemen, how large an interest I have 
in dealing candidly, fairly and impartially with you. 
So far from wishing to charge your minds with my 
opinions, it has not been without painful misgivings that 
I have sometimes discharged the dutv of leading you to 
conviction, in cases where it might be criminal to doubt. 
The idea that such convictions may, at any time, be 
prejudicial to your advancement or your usefulness in 
life, is one which I cannot contemplate without anxiety. 



460 

Should this apprehension be realized, you will be too 
generous to blame me; but I shall find it hard not to 
blame myself. Yet even in that event, we shall both 
enjoy high consolations. The perception of truth is 
sweet: the love of truth is ennobling; and an uncalcu- 
lating devotion to truth is honourable even in the eyes 
of its enemies. 

In these thoughts you may perceive the reason, gen- 
tlemen, why I have carefully avoided any remarks 
which might influence your inclinations in favour of 
any of those party leaders who claim to monopolize the 
confidence of the people. I presume it cannot be un- 
known to you, that I am not remarkable for indiffer- 
ence to the political occurrences of the day. I am 
aware too, that I am, unfortunately, supposed to be 
much addicted to personal predilections in favour of 
distinguished men. In this particular I need not, at 
this day, tell you that I have been misunderstood. 
Such predilections I do not feel. Nullius jurare in, 
verba, is the cardinal maxim which I learned in early 
life, from the only politician who ever possessed my 
entire confidence. But though not only unpledged, but 
indisposed to follow any political leader, I am certainly 
not without my aversions and antipathies. With these, 
however, it was no part of my business to infect you. 
I have certainly not endeavoured to do so; and hence 
it has always been with reluctance, that I have touched 
on topics connected with the characters and public his- 
tory of political aspirants. You may, one of these days, 
be surprised to discover, that I have in some instances, 
been careful not to advert to transactions which came 
directly within the scope of my remarks, on subjects of 
the most absorbing interest. But it would not have 
been just to you, to have invited or provoked the co- 
operation or resistance of any political prejudice which 
you might have already entertained. My business was, 
to lay my thoughts before you, and by fair and candid 
arguments to lead you into the light of the truth. Why 
then should I have introduced into the discussion an 
element which might have influenced you to adopt my 
views without a well founded conviction of their cor- 
rectness, or to reject them, alike without reason ? On 



461 

the other hand, how uncandid and unworthy of the 
relation I bear to you, to take advantage of my posi- 
tion for the purpose of infecting you with my partiali- 
ties or dislikings. If, at any time, I have fallen into 
this error, gentlemen, I beg you, in consideration of my 
inadvertence, to pardon" a lapse which would admit of 
no other apology. 

Sometimes, indeed, it has been my duty to express 
myself in a way, which, to the uncandid, might have 
savoured of a wish to insinuate into your minds some- 
thing of my own feelings of liking or aversion. "His- 
tory," it has been said, "is philosophy teaching by ex- 
ample:" and he must be illy qualified to direct your 
researches after truth, who should reject the lessons of 
this sage instructor. From these, indeed, we learn all 
that can be known. Here it is, that we discover the 
connection between events and their causes, and here 
we learn that lesson, so humbling to the presumption of 
the mere theorist, which I have so often laboured to 
illustrate and enforce. I allude to the tendency of 
moral causes, in their ill-regulated action on the minds 
of men, to provoke reaction, and thus to produce re- 
sults exactly the reverse of those intended or expected. 
Here, too, it is that we learn to contrast the profession 
of the aspirant, with the practice of successful ambition. 
As the experienced seaman augurs the storm from the 
slumbering calm that precedes it, and, in the cloud on 
the horizon, "no bigger than a man's hand," detects the 
tempest that may whelm him in the deep, so he who 
reads the future in the past history of man, is some- 
times enabled to discover the approach of danger at the 
moment when the watchman on the wall is crying 
"peace, and all is well." 

But, where shall we look for those facts which furnish 
this precious wisdom ? Shall we find them in the fabu- 
lous legends of remote antiquity ? Shall we seek them 
in histories more modern, perhaps more authentic, but 
which may mislead us, because we know not enough of 
the manners, habits and circumstances of ancient states, 
to determine all the conditions that may have influenced 
in the production of any result ? Coming down to mo- 
dern times, shall we take all our examples from the na- 



462 

tions of Europe and Asia, at the hazard of being misled 
in the same way? In short, gentlemen, when, at any 
time, the history of our own country — the history of 
events happening in our own time, and under our own 
eyes, in which all that is done is the work of men whom 
we personally know and understand in all their rela- 
tions—when this sure, authentic and ungarbled evidence 
discloses facts of which the political philosopher in other 
lands would be glad to avail himself, shall we alone be 
denied the advantage of it? We may speak of Miiti- 
ades and Camillus, of Pericles and Cassar, of Alcibiades 
and Catiline — we come down to Elizabeth and Henry 
the 4th, to Cromwell and Bonaparte, to Chatham and 
Sully — we may even cite the example of Washington, 
consecrated to the use of all the world by liberty and 
virtue — and we may speak of Arnold and of Burr, whom 
the hangman, infamy, has delivered up for dissection. 
But must we necessarily stop there? If, at any time, 
the best means of explaining and illustrating an impor- 
tant truth cannot be employed, but by naming those 
who are still upon the stage of life, must we forbear to 
use these means, lest we be suspected of flattery or ma- 
lignity ? The necessity for doing this should indeed be 
always clear and strong: and you will bear me witness, 
that I have commonly done so with reluctance. Fortu- 
nately for me, gentlemen, (unfortunately for our coun- 
try,) it has happened that I could not perform my whole 
duty in this particular, without showing you that there 
is not one among those sworn defenders of the consti- 
tution, who stand most conspicuous as candidates for 
public favour, and public honours, at whose hands it has 
not received a wound. I have often indeed endeavoured 
to give the history of the fact without naming the actor. 
Yet I have, from time to time, had occasion to name 
them all, and though I have never attempted to excite 
your indignation, yet there is not one of them whom I 
have forborne to censure. I have felt it to be right 
that I should censure them: for, one of the most impor- 
tant lessons you can learn, is the danger of yielding 
yourselves up to the impulses of that confidence, so 
natural to inexperienced and sanguine youth. "Put not 
your trust in princes, nor in the sons of men." If you 



463 

go into life prepared to pin your faith upon the sleeve 
of any leader, to follow the fortunes and devote your- 
selves to the service of any political aspirant, my con- 
science ought to acquit me of having failed to warn you 
against conduct so dangerous and so criminal. It does 
acquit me. If such are the purposes which will accom- 
pany you into any station, to which your country may 
call you, the fault will not be mine. I have done what 
I could. With other powers I might have done more: 
and had I the eloquence which might inspire you with 
a just zeal for your country's rights, and a righteous in- 
dignation against all who invade them, I am not sure 
that it would not have been my duty to lay aside all 
reserve; to strip off all concealment; to show the as- 
sassins of the constitution "hacking each other's dag- 
gers in its sides;" expose its bleeding wounds, and "bid 
them speak for me." 

Yet I must not mislead you, gentlemen, by withdraw- 
ing your attention from the fact, that he, who in politi- 
cal life would act alone, must always act without effect. 
His efforts must often be associated with those of men 
who do not fully possess his confidence; and to secure 
their co-operation, he must frequently tolerate, and 
sometimes support measures which his judgment con- 
demns. This is one of those hard conditions, "twin- 
born with greatness;" which gives the successful aspi- 
rant so much cause to envy him, who, in the indepen- 
dence of private life, chooses his company and regulates 
his conduct by the dictates of his own conscience. 

In this, gentlemen, as in many other particulars, you 
will find that the ideas I have endeavoured to inculcate, 
are not such as will qualify you to take an early and a 
prominent stand in the service of your country, or to 
win your way at once to the honours and emoluments of 
office. But if these last be the objects to which you 
purpose to devote yourselves, nothing that I have said 
will stand in your way. The political adventurer is 
never at a loss to divest himself of any inconvenient 
opinions, which might retard his progress in the career 
of ambition. Besides, there are no imaginable opinions 
which it may not at some time suit him to adopt. The 



464 

devoted adherent of Cromwell the Protector, would 
have awkwardly paid his court, by echoing the senti- 
ments of Cromwell, the commander of the army of the 
Parliament. So long as parties retain their names, their 
watchwords and their leaders, their principles may vary 
indefinitely ; and the very men who might now de- 
nounce as criminal, any sentiment expressed in ti 
discourse, may, at a future day, take it as the wa+ 
word of their party. 

But after all, gentlemen, the prize most wort 
reward the toils of him who gives himself to the s 
of his country, is one which does not depend 
capricious coincidence of public opinion with I ed 

principles and convictions. The ostracism as the 
crowning glory of the life of Aristides. The exile of 
Camillus made him the saviour of his country: and the 
fame that lives and will live, when all the honours that 
contemporary approbation can bestow, sha' be forgot- 
ten, is the meed of that virtuous constancy, that alike 
defies the tyrant's power, and resists the unbridled . 
passions of the multitude. The man of irtuous 
dom cannot be withheld from the service p his country. 
Condemned to retirement, his unambiti' js 1?S affords a 
pledge of sincerity, which gives sanction a^ authority" 
to his known opinions. The man of viH-^'s wisdom 
cannot be hid. His brightness shines througn the cloud 
that would obscure him, and, gilded with hi « \ns, he 
wears it as a glory. His fame is the gift nun, whose 
approbation is the only true honour. Without the 'van- 
tage ground of high station, he utters his voice, and it 
is heard by the listening ear that leans to ^tch his 
words. His post is the post of honour, whatever it be, 
and he occupies it without fear of change. Man con- 
ferred it not, and man cannot take it away. And above 
all, gentlemen, when that day shall come, which comes 
alike to all; when the warrior's wreath, and the states- 
man's civic crown, alike shall wither at the touch of 
death, the garland that decks his tomb shall bloom in 
immortal freshness, watered by the pious tears of a 
grateful country, and guarded by the care of him to 
whom the memory of the just is precious. 



Efti 



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